Eidolon
by Bytemite
Summary: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. That's the life of Captain Malcolm Reynolds and crew. So when their ship crashes into Ezra, it's almost business as usual. Post movie. (Now complete! Thanks everyone!)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The characters are Joss, the writing isn't, but I hope you all enjoy anyway.

There's a lot of florid romance stuff here, but there's also going to be a lot of fighting and arguing and crew drama, some action next chapter, and quite a bit more action later on. So hopefully there will at least be some balance overall.

I've added about a page of explanatory prologue in the classical sense; for fans of the movie and series, the explanation will pretty much explain everything you already know, but I decided that the 'verse backstory was a necessary inclusion to cover all my bases. And there are movie spoilers here, so be warned.

* * *

Prologue

Fourteen years ago, the great Alliance pacified an entire planet on accident, called it a terraforming failure, and decided they would prove just as capable stewards for the rest of the seventy or so worlds. Independent forces that rallied when governors were appointed to Shadow, Persephone, and Hera didn't appreciate the core's high-handed manner. The resistance that was supposed last six months, if that, went on for five years of brutal combat before it was crushed, and only after Shadow was rendered uninhabitable.

After the war, bureaucracy and resentment from the Alliance-supporting core worlds towards the rebellious border and rim resulted in Parliament repeatedly denying settlers even the most basic humanitarian aid, regardless of whether they had supported Unification or not. Megacorporations such as Blue Sun stepped in to fill the demand, and where that was too expensive, the people turned to local traders and transport, who were quickly labeled smugglers, scavengers, thieves, and pirates by corporate interests.

The resulting slew of Alliance laws were generally ignored by these individuals, many of whom were veterans of the war, many of whom had never stopped wearing the eponymous brown coats of the Independents' faction.

Two such browncoats had tried to move on from the horrors of the war, from Serenity Valley, where the forces of the Independents had been decimated in one desperate last stand. They'd had mixed success - the ship they'd fixed up they had named after that final battle - but they joined those ranks of new criminals and began trying to rebuild. Homeless and drifting before, they gained a family; a wisecracking pilot, a cheerful mechanic, a crude mercenary, a wise and worldly preacher, even an elegant companion, and a doctor who had rescued his genius sister from government scientists.

An Operative of Parliament was sent after them, and they ran, and in running they stumbled upon the Alliance's dirtiest secret: Miranda, and the experimental drug Pax the planet was dosed with. The Alliance got the more compliant population they wanted; thirty million people just lost their will to live. Several tens of thousands more suffered a far worse fate. The resulting hyperviolent subhuman Reavers still raid nearby worlds, carrying the tainted version of Pax in the air processors of their scavenged ships, turning anyone unlucky enough to be dragged off and not eaten into Reavers themselves.

The crew made sure Miranda would not be forgotten again. Half of the verse saw their broadwave, and tension on the border towards the Alliance began to rise again, seven years of dismissive attitude coming to a head.

In doing so, however, the crew lost two of their own, and dozens of friends and contacts in the Alliance's pre-emptive strike. They threw themselves into repairing their ship _Serenity_ and their lives, tried to return to business-as-usual and eke out day to day survival.

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Against all odds, after so long, things had seemed to be going well. At least, comparatively, they were. For months, all any of them could do was to repair the broken shell of their home, thinking that maybe they might mend with it. Always in the back of their minds was that all the help and compensation they received was coming from the government that had tried to kill them, with some success. Always in the back of their minds were those who had been lost.

It had been a moment of triumph, to see their ship _Serenity_ with her wings restored, a swan among geese with her fine, graceful lines and her newly cleaned shining hull.

But when they had taken to the sky again, there had been no more distractions. No more ignoring the awful truth, when they had no other course of action than for a traumatized, emotionally unstable young girl to take the pilot's seat. Weeks of drifting through the lonely, unsympathetic black, no job offers because of the political turmoil they had stirred up and the Alliance's strike against their best contacts and closest friends. Watching Zoë patrol the length of the ship or sequester herself in the bridge and the quarters she used to share, her lean bronze features as stoic as ever but her eyes haunted.

They'd all had a turn or two, talking to the newly made widow, acting as though nothing had happened out of respect for her wishes, her determination to keep going. But there were moments they all saw when she had to stop and struggle to hold back the grief. She always pulled herself back together, but they all wondered, and all worried, missing more than ever their funny former pilot and the comforting words of their preacher.

Then finally, finally, they'd had cargo, and if they had all complained about the cattle and the mess almost a year before, poultry had been something else again. The egg laying hens had provided a much appreciated non-canned-protein source of real food to their diets, but the talons, beaks, general ill-temperament, occasional escapes, and the refusal of their feathered guests to acknowledge gun threats had them all glad to be done with the chicken job.

Still, it had been better than smuggling drugs or slaves (their only other options), and they now had food, coin, and fuel. The excuse of the engine "bein' sticky" had allowed the captain an opportunity to stand at the head of the dinner table as they split up their take, hands on his gunbelt in a casually commanding stance, and announce they would get some shore leave when they next touched down.

The table had been gloomy of late, amplifying their grief and troubles despite the efforts of the warm cheery yellow and stenciled vines on the wall of the galley. But tonight the dimness felt like candlelight, and an air of celebration followed his words. Zoe accepted Jayne's offer to spot her at weight lifting; River set _Serenity_ to dancing, saying she would find a new path amid the stars as she replotted their course; Kaylee headed for the engine room, Doctor Tam tagging along to help with any "adjustments" that needed to be made.

And that left the two of them. The captain, amused by the quick dispersal of his crew, shook his head in a way that made Inara want to get up from her seat at the opposite end of the table and run her hands through his brown hair. "Gratitude," he observed wryly, smirking in a self depreciating way as he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. But he was satisfied seeing everyone under his command in a good mood, and that had put him into one of his own, his blue eyes twinkling.

She smiled back at him, an honest one without lipstick or wiles, her black curls down and relaxed around her shoulders, her lavender dress the simple elegance she preferred wearing around the ship when she wasn't performing. He hadn't quite deciphered the message she was trying to send him, that this was herself, not the mask he thought she wore, but never-the-less she could see something slightly nervous creep into his expression.

This was something else that they had been distracted from, and she would never have believed it could be as strong as ever, after all their history, all their fights over their respective careers, after necessity had forced her to leave and she'd broken both their hearts. She should have known that his feelings, like the rest of him, would be stubborn. He'd been bitter and volatile the entire time she had been gone, never to forgive her, never to forgive himself. Yet he'd practically jumped at the opportunity to rush off to her rescue, directly into an ambush he knew would be waiting for him. He didn't actually remember he was supposed to be angry with her until she'd been back on the ship for an hour, and for that short period of time his disposition was drastically improved, if insufferably smug.

But since that short but sweet conversation they'd had, repairs completed and just before River's first take off, when he had not-quite-almost asked her to stay aboard, and she had not-quite-almost agreed to, nothing had happened. She had years of training in how to be alluringly beautiful and how to seduce men, and none of it could help her. Not just because of what his reaction would be to being 'companionized,' and not just because her training was not at all what she wanted to give him.

Hope had been excised from his life in a firestorm of bombardment and a hailstorm of bullets. She didn't know how to proceed, he couldn't even imagine the possibility. The longer they knew each other the more they ached, especially now, as they gazed at each other over the table between them like it was a chasm separating them.

Eventually the tension stretched and snapped, and he swallowed hard and broke eye contact with her, started to scoop the remaining platinum into the small leather pouch their payment had come in. The money wasn't much, not near enough to justify giving everyone a day off, but they all needed a vacation. He considered the weight in his hands, counted out about two dozen pieces, then slid the rest of it over to her. She frowned at it, confused, then looked up at him. "Middleman's fees run about twenty percent," he explained. "Couldn't have gotten that last job without you."

"This is for you and _Serenity_," she demurred, about to slide it back to him.

He crossed his arms stubbornly, but she could see a bit of hurt at her rejection, a bit of defensiveness. "And right now, Serenity an' I owe you," he insisted, trying to act like twenty percent of their earnings was mere pocket money, even freeing one hand to wave dismissively at the satchel. "Keep it." He fidgeted. "Get yourself, you know, somethin' nice. Can't help but feel we're the reason all your pretties got burnt up."

Another side effect of the Miranda broadwave: threats of violence had the guild recalling every able companion and apprentice back to the core. "They're only things," she replied, shrugging self-consciously, "I'm just grateful that everyone was evacuated from the training house safely."

But she took his gift now for what it was, not missing how pleased he was by her acceptance. Perhaps she might try to purchase some fabrics they could offload on some rim world, and, she conceded, possibly buy a dress he might like. She smiled again. "Thank you." He merely shrugged at her, feigning nonchalance and missing the invitation in her voice. She cast around for a topic of conversation, something to keep him from leaving. "Mal? How do you think you'll spend your free time?"

She sounded like a little girl on a schoolyard asking a boy she liked what he'd be doing over recess. He stared at her, genuinely surprised by her interest, and she fought back a blush, trying to look at ease with her back perfectly straight and hands clasped in her lap. "Well," he mused uncertainly, "since that business with Badger over Sturges, Persephone ain't much for jobs. But the Traders got some presence there, hear tell they like me, might point me a nav set." His voice turned pensive. "Thought maybe I'd take Zoë out for few drinks after. Get her mind off things."

They shared a moment of silence for their two crewmates. "Do you think it will help?" she asked softly. Mal understood Zoë better than anyone alive; two and a half years in the trenches together as sergeant and his corporal had mixed their blood so much that they were practically siblings.

He snorted humourlessly. "Sure as hell got to try." He planted his hands on the table, voice low, looking anywhere but across the table. His face seemed almost hidden in shadow. "I hate seein' her like this. She's walkin' around like she's half dead. Like we buried her with Wash…" he could barely choke out the words, fingers clenching into fists.

What a stunning success this conversation had been. She knew how to talk to people, put them at ease, but rather than building on his cheerfulness, all she had managed to do was to make him nervous and upset. "It wasn't your fault," she soothed earnestly, feeling a rush of sympathy, a tightening in her chest and throat, and dismay at the self-blame she heard. "None of us think so."

"Yeah?" he spat out bitterly, "Whose was it, then? You hear anyone else givin' orders? 'Cause I'd like to beat the _guǐ_ outta the _dà dài zi dà biàn zi de bù láng bù yŏu_ who was."

He pushed away from the table, stomped a few paces towards the crew quarters, then slowed to a stop. A moment, like a rolling peal of thunder, like one time when she'd watched from the loading ramp under the awning of the airlocks as he stood out in a storm, his face turned up to the falling rain while River quoted King Lear beside her. He took a deep breath, then turned back to her, his expression braced for her anger, hers serenely indifferent.

"You're tired," she recognized simply, and he ran a hand over his face in agreement like he had just remembered. Hurting too, she reminded herself, and her expression softened into concern. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"Good as can be expected," he muttered evasively. She understood. She'd had her share of nightmares as well, and every time, he had been there to hold her as she cried for both of them. Thirty million people on Miranda had just had fallen asleep, never to wake up, because the Alliance had wanted to create a more compliant population. After seeing all those people, she had realized that a life devoid of feeling wasn't any life at all. Whether she died first or he did, she wanted to be with him, to feel, for as long as possible.

One last try for something pleasant to discuss, maybe she could still salvage this. "Would you like some company? Not as a companion, I mean, but…" At his blank stare, it occurred to her how her offer might sound and she felt her cheeks heat up. "For drinks. With Zoë," she amended.

"Right," he nodded quickly.

For some reason, she felt compelled to continue, as though she hadn't said anything mortifying enough yet. "If it were the three of us" - he was still nodding - "maybe Zoë wouldn't feel so…"

"Uneasy," he finished for her. "I'm wise to your meaning."

She sighed, intentionally dramatic and long-suffering, but marred by an affectionately amused smile. "Just promise me you won't start any bar fights."

"So long as none find me," he agreed. A beat. He started to back away. "Well, like you said…"

"You're tired," she repeated. Another nod, more like a jerk of his head, then he looked at her, really looked, something lingering in his eyes that drew her in, made her feel like she was rising to her feet, drifting closer.

"G'night," he said abruptly, and turned sharply on his heel.

- - - - -  
Their sentinel silently watched their interactions, alarmingly entertained, and Inara realized she may have outthought herself this time. Zoë was distracted from her troubles, yes, in that she had interpreted their outing as some kind of attempt at courtship to chaperone.

They had talked about their upcoming itinerary, and now business, raising questions Inara was far from ready to be able to answer. And, of course, judging by Mal's grin over catching her wrong footed and uncertain, he had taken things entirely the wrong way. She frowned at him, perfect condescending dignity, and he cheekily raised his glass to her, thoroughly enjoying her flustered reaction.

After another round of drinks, she was relieved when the subject turned to amusing stories about their shipmates, such as the time Jayne picked up the lovely blonde tourist with the disturbing tastes, or how River had begun a quiet campaign of sabotage against her brother's clothing.

"Little pink hearts!" The captain guffawed, hand up, swearing he was telling the truth. "And Jayne is just roarin'…"

"Just Jayne?" his first mate asked shrewdly.

He wiped his thumb at the corners of his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His attempt to reassert control didn't last long. "Kaylee figured it was all for her! Thought it was sweet!" His palm slapped the table in his mirth.

Inara felt her heart warm as she studied him, then caught the eyebrow Zoë had raised in her direction. She rolled her eyes at herself and simpered, acknowledging, yes, she knew she was pathetic.

The other woman's lips curled up in approval, then she returned her attention to the captain, who had settled down enough to observe their exchange with a growing curiosity. "Womanly things, sir," Zoë answered his unspoken question, and he looked slightly wary, decided not to ask.

She couldn't help it, she was facing an unfair combination of alcohol and his so very masculine expression of female-induced mystified worry. She giggled, raising one manicured hand in a futile attempt to hide it.

Then everything became chaos, a disjointed mess of sensation, images, and sounds she couldn't sort out if she tried. Mal shouting, falling into her arms. The bark of Zoe's sawn off. Then they were moving, and he was yelling in the com for Simon to prep the infirmary. Carrying her, but blood was spreading over his shirt. Holding her, like those times her comforted her, or maybe she'd been comforting him, but she wasn't crying. Everything was hazy, she felt detached, shocked. Mal was hurt. The Eavesdown Docks blurred by from the back of the mule.

Voices hid danger, the black vial could save lives but the pieces would scatter. River was running towards them, down the ramp from _Serenity_, her long strands flying behind her like ravens; they moved past the tiny girl, ignoring her steady stream of prophecies. Inara struggled a bit as the crew put her up on the infirmary bed under that cold light, no, Mal first, he's hurt, but she was fighting the black creeping over her vision.

Sometime later, Inara realized she was awake. She followed the metal pole before her eyes up, to the bag hanging above her head like a red balloon, down the line to her hand, resting by her cheek. She was curled on her side, covered by several blankets to stave off the cold, one Kaylee's quilt, with flowers sewn into it, another a battered army blanket. She started to nestle deeper into the covers, trying to find some more warmth, then she saw him.

She was barely able to see him through infirmary windows between them, but there he was, guarding her, protecting her. There was some cotton and a bandage on his upper arm, just below a rolled up sleeve, the wound almost laughably small compared to the stain on his shirt. She brightened, his injury hadn't been as serious as she thought. "Mal," she called, weak with relief.

He heard. The captain hit the ship intercom en route and ordered Simon to the infirmary, making his way over to the metal chair at the side of the bed, propping his elbows on his knees, clasping his fingers at his chin. He didn't look at her, or rather, glanced once, then looked away, eyes shut tightly when he saw she was looking back. Beginning to sense something amiss, she reached for him, but he stood and took a few steps away, restless, wanting to pace but not having enough room.

Before she could ask, he spoke, still turned away from her, stoic. "What you said before," a moment to gather his courage, "the strength of love does more than just bind you. It _becomes_ you." She felt her heart jump up into her throat, fluttering, hopeful, he sounded wistful. "When that power fills you, you feel like impossible ain't so, like nothin' in the 'verse can touch you." He titled his head slightly, studying the hand she had moved towards him. "Like maybe things'll be all right now."

With some effort, she kept herself quiet so he might continue. "What you feel, or not, don't make no nevermind," he told her. "We're your family, 'Nara, will be long as we breathe."

She nodded, he didn't see it. "Yes," she added, agreeing. "Family." Even when she had left. Especially when she had left.

"Can't break away," he repeated her own words back to her.

"And I don't want to," she finished for him.

He looked at her then, blue eyes keen, considering for a long time. "Maybe you should."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Establishing battle lines wasn't unfamiliar territory. Push a man too far, and he pushes back. Sometimes you had nice electronic maps in a cushy command center, sometimes you had a stick and some sand drenched in blood. End result was the same. You drew a line, then you dared the universe to cross it. Oftentimes the universe was all too eager to oblige.

Back at the start of the war, Ezra had been administered by a council of the richest landowners, and unlike the armies mustering elsewhere, they had welcomed their new governor as a liaison to the more developed core worlds. He had died unexpectedly just before the war ended, and the resulting power vacuum and influx of refugees sent the planet into a downward spiral.

In the midst of increasing lawlessness, Adelai Niska retired from his position on the council to move in to the former governor's brand new orbiting skyplex and become a full time crimelord, ruling over the planet below while the Alliance bureaucracy dragged its feet trying to find a replacement appointee. As it turned out, none of their candidates would take the job, and Niska remained uncontested: the kindly looking old man in round spectacles had a reputation for ruthlessness. He considered the Chinese poet and statesman Shan Yu a mentor of sorts, inspired by legends of a warlord who had purged corruption and complacency from his homeland by terrorizing his fellow countrymen, starting World War III, and precipitating the Exodus from Earth-That-Was.

Most honest rimward smugglers and traders tried to stay clear of Niska, but Captain Malcolm Reynolds had the misfortune of having crossed the sadist three times, who was currently detailing each separate incidence: firstly returning some stolen medicine to some ailing folk in Paradiso, then being rescued from Niska's wrath by his crew, and now, apparently, just breathing.

The crimelord rose from his swivel chair, striding impressively out from behind the real cherry wood desk between them and smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his business suit. He lingered a moment to look out the view from his office towards the station reactor core. Big moment, building suspense, Mal supposed, as the four guards in black armour currently training semi-automatics his way tensed for action. "So I am surprised," Niska continued, turning back towards his prisoner. "This visit, your ship landing on my world, most unexpected! And now, you come by yourself. Truly, there is no fear in you?"

He shrugged, blue eyes intent on his adversary, a brown leather duster shifting over his shoulders as he finally worked the bindings on his wrists open behind his back. "Score of your men says I got no reason for it." Twenty men whose families, according to Niska, had been killed, simply because the hun dan saw failure in his service as a betrayal.

Niska shook his head with a small smile, not without some admiration. "_Zajímavýjší_. It is shame you cross me. Good business we once could make." He waved to his minions, the two who grabbed him by the arms and he had to force himself not to fight off (too many right now, bide your time, the strategic part of his brain warned), and two more standing who slid open the panel to the adjacent torture room and closed it behind them.

"Stay away!" a frightened voice shouted from within, chock full of determination all the same, "Say all the scary you want, I ain't gonna… Cap'n!" The girl brightened to something more like her usual upbeat setting, her shoulder length chestnut hair bouncing as she sat up hopeful. Niska hadn't even bothered to restrain her. Her expression changed to one of horror as she realized what was going on, and she shrank back against the polymer splash guard spread over the austere space-station grey wall. "Cap'n, no, no, you can't…"

"Kaylee," he answered, curtly, taking in the dust on her pink sweater and her cover-alls, the obvious signs of a scuffle from her abduction. Seemed like they hadn't done more than intimidate her just yet, but best to be sure. "You hurt?"

The crimelord chuckled as he stepped among them, and the little mechanic shot the man a look of fear and anger. "Fine, she is fine! What would be said, that Niska, he tortures harmless little girls? What scorn!" He smiled at her, looking like someone's grandpa, and she recoiled. "No, is much better that she is witness. When Malcolm Reynolds is dead, they will know what she says is _truth_."

- - - - -  
The mood on the bridge was somber, and Jayne Cobb was engaged in an activity most who knew him wouldn't credit him for: thinking hard. Only three things could reasonably be expected of a man his size in his line of work, which were being big, being strong, and looking out for himself. But here he was, just sitting, tapping meaty fingers against one of his guns, and the expression in his blue eyes, and the other hand passing over the goatee on his chin were thoughtful.

He blamed the captain, that was for gorramn sure. Scrimping again on repairs, so they'd had to go planetside for parts, and all the heroics was why they were bad with Niska. Made him ask why in the hell they were going to get Mal and get all killed.

But they were going towards their other crewmate too, and if Jayne was honest (which didn't happen often), the one good thing about Mal was he'd do just about anything for his crew. Kaylee being who she was it made some kind of sense why Mal had taken Shuttle Two and gone after her. The mercenary might have considered it himself, if the scenery were different. Maybe.

Besides, he thought, remembering the reasoning he'd used to justify the last time he'd helped save Mal's sorry _pi gu_, dying by torture was a sight more manly way to go than getting blown out an airlock, and Zoë wasn't ever gonna hesitate.

"We dress ourselves for darkness," Crazy Girl whispered from the pilot seat. She stared at him, all unsettling shadowy eyes, her little hands moving with a will of their own as she began firing thrusters in sequence. "Your turn."

Jayne bristled. Partially because he'd never taken well to threats, perceived or otherwise, and when Moonbrain started talking eerie was when things went wrong. But also partially because ever since that _jīng shén cuò luán_ on Miranda, he kept thinking maybe he was safe here, and that was dangerous thinking. If he didn't catch himself, sometimes he felt like a guard dog, proudly chasing off squirrels, and Jayne Cobb was _nobody's_ guard dog. Hell, even the gorramn prissy Doc and his nutty sis actually were seeming more and more like could stand sharing space with them, and that was proof he'd stuck around too long with the same crew.

So he was working on something to snap at her, maybe about her keeping her turn 'cause she had all the supply on crazy around here, but then there was Zoë, silent as a cat looking between them with that soldier's caution of hers. "Jayne," the first mate spoke, cutting into the tension with her no-nonsense attitude, "get suited up for EVA." She was pulling her curly chocolate hair into a pony-tail and looked troubled. Like as not because this was her sergeant from the war that Niska had his grubby paws on, and _there_ was a relationship Jayne couldn't figure for the life of him.

Crazy was looking smug. "Ruttin' know-it-all," he grumbled, getting up to follow as Zoë then turned briskly on her heel to go oversee other preparations.

- - - - -  
One of the guards kept a gun pointed at Mal's head, while the other rolled the heavy table out to the center of the room. Ominous, right down to the sheet covering the surface and that one incessant squeaking wheel liable to drive a person crazy all on its own. The harsh interrogation light shining down from the ceiling over the suggestive drain in the floor had been extinguished, the room dimmer without it.

The sadist oversaw the changes with a scholarly sort of pleasure, like some Paquin stage director. "I think the table looked better where it was," Mal opined, "better _feng shui_. And where _are_ the candles?"

Kaylee was openly staring at him, begging him to be quiet. Antagonizing people who wanted to torture you generally wasn't the smartest plan ever, just the same he'd always figured he might as well. They often didn't expect it, might make things go quicker, and in the very least, he'd have one last bit of satisfaction before he went.

Niska merely sighed, already acquainted with his particular brand of _shuă zuǐ pí_. The crimelord gestured, and the sheet was removed with a flourish. A man was still strapped to it, or what passed for one before all the bruising and missing pieces.

His little mechanic had gasped, her hands clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide, fixed on the mutilated corpse. He called her name, took a couple of times but she looked at him again. "Gonna be okay, Kaylee," he told her, or tried to, then he was slammed hard by the butt of an assault rifle and forced to be quiet. Hardly calmed by this, she curled into a ball on the floor and closed her hazel eyes tight.

"You are speaking of the inevitable arrival of your crew, yes?" Niska asked. "They will not be in time to interrupt, I think." He snapped his fingers at his current gofer, pointed towards some electrical wires hanging from a sharp looking hook.

"Mr. Niska?" The employee started, sounding confused as he reached for the cables, "These look tampered…"

After the lights stopped flickering and the crackle of electricity faded, three of the remaining people in the room stared blankly at the still twitching victim of electrocution, while Kaylee was somewhere on the verge of tears.

Then the captain smashed a fist into the other guard's jaw and knocked the thug's head against the torture table. Niska was already almost to the door, shouting for guards in some unpronounceable language before the former sergeant tackled the old man and pinned him to the wall.

The sentries posted outside were sliding open the panel, there was the whine of charging weapons from them, then a two handed pair of machine guns and a sawn off shotgun made several good arguments against their inclinations.

Mal dragged Niska back into his office, past Jayne, who had stowed one of his guns in a holster behind his back to search the dead. Zoë handed him his Independent's issue service pistol and he slung the crimelord to the ground, looming over him. Niska's courage wasn't much improved with a firearm leveled at him. "Don't you come after us again. Don't you send anyone after us. And don't you EVER abduct any of my crew."

"Yes!" the cowering man begged, "yes, yes, please! Anything!"

The flash-bang of gunpowder sealed the promise.

"Gorrammit Mal, the hell's takin' ya so long?" the mercenary asked, frowning in confusion as his employer crouched down beside the older man. "Whole station's gonna come down on us like stink on _mă féi_!"

The pulse under his hand faded as the red pool on the floor grew. The immediate danger dealt with, the captain began trying to coax Kaylee out of the torture chamber. Her first steps were hesitant, then she came running, and he pulled her into a hug as she buried her tear-streaked face into his coat.

"I knew you was gonna come 'n get me." Her voice was tremulous and filled with interjected sobs and hiccups. She hugged her captain tighter, a few more tears spilling down her cheeks. "Was scared you was…"

He was stroking her hair and tried to shush her gently as he could, which he knew wasn't much, not him, not after the war. But she calmed some, and was listening to his reassurances. "You did good, Kaylee-girl. Kept your head, and it was right smart you tinkerin' with the wiring."

The girl sniffled. "Lost the replacement actuator when I got took, so _Serenity_ ain't gonna get so quick," she confessed, sounding guilty.

"Only but a thing. Don't matter s'long as we can still get," he told her, stepping back, his hands on her shoulders to anchor her to the here and now. "Now stay close, and don't get hit. Serenity don't run at all without her mechanic." She nodded, bravely uncertain, and he pulled her by her pink sweater over to his first mate and mercenary, who were covering them from either side of the open blast doors. "Zoë?"

"Came in through a maintenance hatch from the outside, dropped our suits there. Won't be able to get out the same way," the soldier woman reported, chambering a cartridge into one of her back-up 9mms with an emphatic _click-clack_. "Gonna have to get to the shuttle as brought you, sir." Jayne laid down some cover fire as she slipped out into the hallway and took up a position at the next chokepoint.

He exchanged nods with his mercenary, and they pivoted out into the hallway at the same time, firing. Jayne took cover from a crate, and Kaylee squeaked a little, shaking, as he tugged her behind a prominent metal rib, two rounds coming slightly too close to his head.

Battle paralysis. The former Independent sergeant knew it well enough, had seen it plenty of times in the trenches during the war; only way to fight it was to fight for the poor soul until they felt safe enough to get themselves back together. He hated to see it in Kaylee. Hated himself a little more for her being involved at all.

Jayne smeared one against the wall; two more were running for their position, Mal's target jerked backwards, and Zoë clotheslined hers, finishing them off with a few bullets on the way down. The amazon waved them in, stepped around her cover, and fired point blank into the guard that had been trying to sneak up on her.

Two more sentries guarding the bay, and they were there, right at the threshold of their berth. The captain fired a few times through the window at dock control, taking out the operator, which seemed to attract the attention of every guard that had been posted by his shuttle. He covered Kaylee as the glass above their heads shattered outward on top of them.

"Hell with this," grunted his merc, pulling out a couple of grenades. Too late, the projectiles were already in the air, sailing towards the airlock, and he threw a couple of flashbangs for good measure.

When the smoke cleared, Zoë was standing over the big man, looking particularly fierce. "We lob explosives towards ventable parts of a skyplex now, Jayne?" Her eyes flashed dangerously as she seethed.

"You do since you run with Jayne Cobb," he muttered as she began checking for survivors.

The captain was helping his mechanic into the breached control room now that they were in the clear. Obligingly, with a little prompting, she got to work on the docking control systems. "Kaylee? How's it look?"

Alarms began blaring. "Oops. Well, got us ready to disengage," she chirped sheepishly.

They boarded and detached with all due haste. And in the long minutes they would spend hurrying back for _Serenity_, he thought about just why recently he liked to avoid the shuttle.

Now and then, when the ache got unbearable, he lit a stick of incense as to a shrine, just to remember, like he'd ever forget. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her unique scent still, that sweet spice underneath all her expensive delicate perfumes that men might cross a desert for, all of her things back in the shuttle where they rightfully belonged. Sometimes it even seemed like he'd turn around, and there she would be, wrapped in her silks and annoyed by his intrusion.

And then he _would_ turn around, and the shuttle walls would be bare and grey instead of pretending to be the lavish bedchambers of some Sihonese princess, and she would still be gone. And that ache would start to feel more like a black hole.

So when they finally docked, River guiding them in with an eerie chant of 'Lady bug, lady bug, fly away home,' he couldn't get out of there fast enough, and almost bowled Simon over as the doctor stood waiting outside. "Captain," the younger man greeted formally, frowning at the near collision then immediately going to Kaylee.

The captain tried not to feel too irritated that his mechanic had just abandoned every thought of the ship for the dark haired, blue eyed medic, who had himself just abandoned every thought of checking the rest of the crew for injuries. "All right people, not out of this yet," he cautioned, and almost in agreement, their proximity alarm answered him. He bit out a curse. "Simon, you can examine her later. And don't forget the disinfectant," he called, clomping up the scaffolds and metal stairway, past the crew quarters and onto the bridge, Zoë right behind him.

"Buzzards," their pilot explained cryptically, without preamble. He took one glance at their sensors and knew just what she meant: Niska had beefed up defenses since last time with a couple of short range fighters. They chose that moment to introduce themselves, and the ship rocked from the explosion, River twisting just so in a corkscrew that the missiles that had locked onto their trajectory ran together.

He gave her a proud smile, that she returned, when he felt the shudder from the engines, and the gut sinking sensation of his feet lifting off from the deck. "Captains worry too much," River murmured, pointing a thin finger to the ceiling as they made a pass underneath the skyplex. "Timing is everything."

"Then it better be quick," he retorted, "because both of 'em got two more shots and you can't out-manuever a floatin' rock without grav." He managed to push off from the console over to the com, explaining the situation (apart from the obvious g-field failure, even Jayne could figure that one out) to the rest of the crew.

His psychic just sighed at him, sounding very much like the petulant girl just out of her teens that she was.

Above them, the skyplex opened up and emptied its garbage and waste onto their hapless pursuit. He returned to their sensors, puzzled out what had just happened. "We get them?" Zoë asked.

Another explosion, and for the first time since they'd gotten there, River looked nervous. "No. They're angry now."

- - - - -  
As Simon watched his sister ran her hands along the bulkheads, her dark sundress billowing behind her with each dainty dancer's step, he surprised himself with the regret he felt. He had risked so much for her, to save her from the government scientists who had been cutting into her brain, only to find the safest place for them was hardly safe at all. And yet, as frustrated as he had become by that fact, as angry as he was sometimes at the captain, at Jayne the man ape, at being top three at MedAcad and still being unable to help River, at his situation, and at all he had given up, this old junkpile of a ship had at some point become home.

If he thought about it, he knew he could pinpoint the exact moment when; the entire crew, gathered around the table, having taken up his cause, deciding to send out one last message to tell all the worlds what the alliance had done. Or maybe, he thought, as Kaylee made her own last goodbyes, almost a mirror image of River, the two girls sharing heartbroken looks, maybe Serenity first became home when Kaylee had first smiled at him, and he just kept forgetting.

His sister patted his arm as he passed, looking sympathetic, then Zoë joined them, a blank expression on her face like she was just holding together, but ready to protect them. Like the entire crew had, months before, not about to let their sacrifices be for nothing. Kaylee gave him a long look over her shoulder as she crossed over to the twin shuttle on the other side of the cargo bay, watching each other and the increasing distance between them.

She looked around for a moment, and he heard her ask Jayne where the captain was, not quite willing yet to let go of the hope, to realize he wasn't coming. Zoë's silence was even louder than it had been before. Jayne, to his credit, didn't burst Kaylee's bubble, but grumbled and told her to get in the shuttle already.

The doctor nodded at the big man, and Jayne shrugged in return. Coming from very different backgrounds, where Simon might have five different spoons at the dinner table and Jayne just licked everything off a knife, they hadn't gotten along from the very beginning. Those were the only pleasantries required between them.

He turned away as Kaylee disappeared into the other shuttle, and followed his sister, the shuttle doors sliding shut after him, hissing as they created an airtight seal.

- - - - -  
They hit atmo hard as the shuttles flew away. With grav screening gone, there was nothing to keep him in the air but lift, drag, and the thrusters mounted on the wings. All of which were less than useful to deal with the fully-functional and much faster interceptors tailing them, who would be dropping EMP charges on his fleeing crew as soon as they'd dealt with him.

He wasn't about to give the _liú máng_ the chance.

A flick of a few switches, and glowing hot plasma leaked out the main bulb engine on the backside of the ship in the manner that gave the Firefly-class its name. The super-heated material ignited the air and spilled over the viewscreens of the fighters, playing merry havoc with their sensors.

Meanwhile, as the force of acceleration began crushing him into his seat and black began eating into his vision, he was learning the _yǐn jiǔ bù xiān xià fá jù_ way why no one went to hard-burn when grav was down, ever.

"Y'know," Wash said casually, leaning against the mainframe and entirely unaffected, all fuzzy blond hair and eye bleeding tropical shirts, "The wife's gonna be a bit upset if you get yourself all splattered, so you might want to consider pulling up."

Behind him, he was vaguely aware of the impact of the ships chasing him as they plowed into the ground. "O Lord my God, if I have done this; if there is iniquity in my hands; If I have rewarded evil to him that was at peace with me; Let the enemy persecute my soul, and take it; yes, let him tread down my life upon the earth, and lay my honor in the dust," Book intoned, calm as ever, his bible open to the psalms.

"Soon-ish?" Now maybe?" Wash began to implore.

"It ain't your time, son," the elderly shepherd agreed kindly, warmly, rough old hands the color of deep wood steady on his shoulder.

A pair of dark blue eyes stared into him, defiant and spirited as ever in her eternally young face. "You don't stop fighting, Malcolm, you hear? Don't you ever stop 'til you come back to us."

"Please, Mal…" whispered a pair of red, red lips, right next to his ear.

And then the world ended in fire, like twice before.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
The hush of rain as it whispered down onto the long grass muffled the sounds of the cattle shifting, ruminating, the water running sheets off their black coats as they laid low in the field. His white speckled chestnut mare made no complaints either; he'd first found her in a blizzard. Compared to that, this weather was calm, contemplative.

Behind him on Snowy's back, his passenger was pondering, deep thoughtful eyes peering up from underneath her parasol. She was swinging her little legs, riding sidesaddle, her faded denim skirt and two long black braids getting soaked.

"Ever looked real long up through the droplets?" she wondered. "Like as the water forms a pillar 'round you. Like as you look long enough, maybe you get sucked up to heaven."

"More so when the thunder comes down and strikes us dead on account a that rig you're carryin'," he agreed.

She shrugged, her umbrella bobbing with the motion. "Can't be helped. And lightning." He gave her a questioning glance. "Lightning strikes," she clarified, "not thunder."

The air was sweet and fresh, the mist splashing over them, running down the back of his neck from his bedraggled hair, cool and welcome after nearly being broiled earlier in the day. He missed this, he realized: the wild untamed storms that rushed over the land as often as sunlight, the company while he watched the herd. He missed how when there wasn't rain, he was able to see past the fenceposts in the far distance to the horizon, the sky open and seeming endless above him.

"What'd you bring that for, anyway?" he asked, sounding younger than he had in a long time. Like a boy, maybe around fourteen. "Ain't doin' you much good."

"Don't want my book to get wet." As if to punctuate the statement, he heard her refresh the page with a couple beeps, and he smiled. Ever since she learned how to read she loved to quote passages to him, and as his chores gradually began to take up more and more of his time, she started to accompany him to the fields.

"_But neither breath of morn when she ascends, with charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun, on this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, glist'ring with dew; nor fragrance after showers; nor grateful ev'ning mild, nor silent night with this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon or glittering starlight; nothing without thee is sweet_."

He made a face. "Could you maybe pick somethin' else to read?"

- - - - -  
Dismay wasn't at all the word for Kaylee's feelings, not one bit.

When Jayne had been flying the shuttle none too steady – maybe he was lying when he said he'd flown one before – that had been dismay. When they lost _Serenity_'s beacon and had to follow the scattered debris and the scar gouged into the dunes like the tracks of some awful sidewinder, that had been dismay. Seeing her ship, her home, lying there on its side like a broken toy, wings ripped off from rolling, windows built to withstand breaking atmo and meteoroid impacts shattered, that had been dismay.

She rushed out and fell to her knees, letting out a little cry at the sight, the wind and dust whipping around her. And she thought that she was going to give the captain such a yelling at, and then remembered that the captain was _still in there_.

Then River was kneeling next to her, patting down her hair. "Slipped under the water, hard to breathe," she explained, standing again, her attention already focused elsewhere. "Must hurry." The wraith of a girl passed like smoke over the sand, like her bare feet shouldn't leave footprints.

"Kaylee," Zoë called as she followed River with about the same speed, "Need your eyes. Jayne, stay and guard the shuttles."

The mercenary set her up on her feet again like she weighed nothing at all, surveying the wreck himself. "Weren't like I'm all fired to cook my balls over a plasma leak anyhow," he grumbled at the orders.

"No, that would be such a tragedy," Simon remarked dryly as he stepped in beside her. The bigger man scowled instinctively at the mockery but didn't bristle for a fight like he might have before. "Aren't all your clothes still on the ship?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah. Gonna want those, less'n you like your air on the unfresh side," Jayne told them dismissively, pointedly beginning to scan the distant sands for scavengers, but glancing and frowning at the ship now and then. "Bring my guns out too."

She'd been hoping it wouldn't be so bad as she got closer. Outside was okay, really; body was sturdy, only the hull panels had been crumpled some and the engine had been knocked around. She bucked up, peered inside.

Everything was strewn every which way, and part of the scaffolds that had been lining the cargo bay had been shorn from the wall during the tumble. One lone electric light flickered and sparked, losing power. Zoë was the closest to frantic Kaylee had ever seen her except when they were facing down the Reavers, the way she was hollering. And so was Simon; River had somehow managed to get up onto the unstable scaffolds, a long thick rope used to tie down goods coiled around one of her narrow shoulders.

The little dancer firmly ignored her brother's requests, arms out, dainty-stepping across the metal railing of the overturned catwalks like the tightrope walkers Kaylee'd seen at a wandering circus that came to the Kowlonshi harvest fair back home. Zoë started watching too, and River climbed up into the stairwell, disappeared into the front hallway, and let down the rope shortly after with a little curtsy and a cat-caught-the-canary smile.

Kaylee distracted herself looking over the hovermule that had snapped its tethers, stepping over the metal wall trusses, assessing and cataloguing the repairs to be made as Zoë, Simon, and River headed for the bridge.

"He's alive!" Zoë shouted down, crouching in the stairwell above like some kind of panther, and Kaylee let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Simon's saying the infirmary ain't going to be in any condition, have to get 'im to a shuttle."

She considered the likely state of the captain, judging by the state of _Serenity_, then the twenty foot drop from the stairwell to the ground, then winced. "Won't be easy," she called back. "You'd need a stretcher, but could rig up some pulleys to the top hatch ladder…"

"That'd work," Zoë agreed, "Got anything we could use?"

After a quick look around she spotted just the perfect thing. She tied some rope around the middles of some old cable spools and tossed the loose ends on up, watching Zoë haul them up hand over hand like they were nothing. "Gonna be awhile," the warrior woman said, securing the system. "Might wanna go sit with Jayne, case we get company."

What Kaylee wanted was to be around if she was needed, but she nodded reluctantly at the second in command and waved, heading back out into the wind.

She closed up the shuttle doors against the rising dust storms, gave the mercenary a brief update. Jayne shrugged like he didn't care. "Stubborn sumbitch," he muttered, all grudging admiration that wasn't.

Conversation spent, they both just watched out the windshield. Life on _Serenity_ had been harder than usual for the last several months, and she wondered what would be next for everyone. People had been hurt when they sent out the Miranda broadwave, like the Alliance soldiers. She'd never been too fond of the purplebellies after their taxes had nearly put her folks off their land, but they were people, same as her. Just like those Reavers once were. And she shot at them, might've killed some, she wasn't looking too closely. Just like she might've killed that man on Niska's skyplex.

She shivered and hugged her knees tighter. When she'd first joined up with the crew, traveling was looking like a big shiny adventure. And even after she'd found out the sort of jobs they often did, she'd stayed, because heck, lots of people did what they did on the rim, you couldn't blame folks for just trying to keep living. And because she knew, they were all good people, Zoë, Cap'n... Wash. They weren't trying to hurt anybody, even picked their targets rather than preyed on the less fortunate, which was better than some tried for. Bullets and such just seemed to happen.

Well, bullets had found them, this time, and all those poor people on Haven... And she'd found bullets, and she wasn't too sure of much anymore.

The dust had choked the sky, couldn't see a thing when someone knocked on the shuttle hatch. Kaylee jumped up grateful to answer, but Jayne grabbed her arm and pulled her back, opened up just a tiny crack and stuck Vera's muzzle through to say howdy-do to their guests.

He jumped back all of a sudden, cursing and spitting, and their younger crew member danced in. She twirled to the rhythm of the sand on the outside and blew another handful of dust around. "It's raining," she declared, dropping cross legged to a random spot on the floor.

Jayne's lip curled, confounded and angry, and mostly angry. "Yeah, crazy girl tears next time you skulk up 'n I got a gun." River just stared at him, and he growled in annoyance at another knock after Kaylee just shut the doors again.

Zoë and Simon carried in what looked like a mummy from an old horror vid on a surplus cot between them. She settled herself back down real quick though, all that blood on his face, that was just from a gash on his head, and he was still breathing, long and slow if a bit unconscious.

"We thought it was a flood," River explained, in that funny bug-eyed way she had sometimes that made her brother try to edge her away from the annoyed Jayne. "But they all swam to safety, and the rain washed everything clean." Zoë gave the girl a long look, then took over the shuttle controls.

The engine shuddered and protested in a way that told Kaylee she'd be spending some time soon cleaning sand out of the housing, but apart from that, their flight was silent. Spots of desert scrub began to pepper the landscape as they flashed by, then grass. A town several miles off to their port side looked welcoming, and they banked a broad circle before landing.

Already the sunlight was feeling like the home she'd left for _Serenity_ just as soon as they stepped out, the first mate saying something about scouting out the town. _"See, won't be so bad_," she told herself, _"might even wave Pa once the Cortex's up and working again_." She took a deep breath of fresh summer air, and felt herself start to smile again.


	4. Chapter 3

Thanks again to Platonist, Anja, and RionaEire for helping me again with this chapter. :)

* * *

Chapter 3  
Here, on the thirteenth floor, the only light was from the cold dim glow of machines. Officially, none of it existed. None of _them _existed. But they weren't as invisible as they thought. They, all of them, had names, doctors promoted to their positions and test subjects stolen from the lower wards alike.

Someone had been watching this time. And he, nameless, darkness within darkness, remained unnoticed among them until metal sang from scabbard.

They looked up from their helpless victims as one; from their monitors, their syringes, their charts, from silver wires running through flesh and skull. They looked at him, these butchers, or maybe at his unsheathed steel, and blanched.

Not so long ago, he had respected ones such as them, the good works they were doing, making improvements in the lives of citizens in exchange for the glorious sacrifices of the few. Now, he saw only atrocity, felt only shame and pity for these unknown martyrs of relentless control, for those whose lives had been destroyed in the name of progress. "Ariel," he mused, his voice soft and his eyes traveling over shadows and blinking lights, "who watched over Miranda. This is where it began."

One of the researchers approached nervously, the rest continued to watch, frightened. Did they know then? Did they know what retribution looked like? This one was young, pretty, a blonde with green eyes. She might have family, he realized sadly. "Sir? Sir, you can't be here. This is a restricted area."

The arc of a blade was art, a loathsome skill he had learned for viler purpose. They scattered like mice before she even hit the floor, blood staining her white coat. The alarms they ran for never sounded; he had disabled them. No cameras caught the massacre; no one wanted recorded what went on in these rooms.

Worse than this was the mercy he dealt afterward with the same instrument. Revenge would not be long coming, the tiny white and blue clues left for him revealed his next target. But, he supposed, returning the katana to his side, he had time for a brief detour.

- - - - -  
Awareness and unease were coming gradual. Even figuring out he was drugged was slow, but the main clue was the creeping wakefulness as the sedatives gave him up; he was a light sleeper by necessity. He couldn't hear that electric hum, ever present even when the engine wasn't running. _Serenity_'s song had settled his life and raw nerves many times, a lullaby that made the dreams go away. It told him he knew who he was still, knew where he was, and if he was unsettled, he needed only to feel it through the metal against his hand to ground himself.

He had to find her again. Tensing for action, he prepared to roll off the mattress and either get his gun or come up swinging, but his plan ended up more of a surprised jolt. Dark hair and intense staring eyes were inches away from his face, and it took his brain several moments to catch up to the present. River.

When she finally came into focus, she was wearing one of her frocks in purple, the one Inara gave her before leaving. Her eyelids drifted shut. "They're all asleep. There's a briar patch, all around them, but they can't see, they can't wake up, not until she does."

Couldn't process that, still too hazy even if her words weren't like fog. "Who?"

"Sleeping beauty," she murmured, like from far away, then her eyes shot open again. "No, resist the spell!" She wasn't looking at him, more off into some distance or future. He couldn't tell whether she was talking to him or to herself. "You have to save the princess."

Maybe he was dreaming. Reality usually made some amount of sense by now. He sat up, pulling the blankets around himself and slowly took in his surroundings, looking for someone he wouldn't find. A slab counter covered in medical supplies running along the opposite dusty earthen wall, daylight and a breeze from an inlaid arch and firing slit on his left. Like a tomb, he realized.

River patted the top of his head sympathetically. "The ivory tower has stairs and she waits in the heart. You mustn't be scared, the thorns will flower and open the way for you. But ask nicely."

He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, then stopped and frowned at the girl. "What've I told you...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't touch," she repeated teasingly, reaching out and mussing it up again, "Captainly pride to think of." After a few entertaining moments of batting at each other's hands, the reader stiffened on the little bedside tuffet, listening to something only she could hear. She broke into a bright smile, the likes of which were rare to see on her troubled features but increasingly common. "They're back!" she declared, bounding out of the room.

They'd gotten the hovermule patched up enough that his mechanic didn't think they'd have a breakdown, and Zoë, Jayne, and Kaylee had gone into the capital city. Couldn't remember the specifics, but he had a pretty good idea why he wasn't with them. He scowled, spotting his clothes. Nowhere was completely safe in the post-Niska tumult, even with Council control and private security forces.

He was just shrugging on his coat when his medic came in, who stood holding open the curtain that served for a door, frowning and furrowing his aristocratic brow in disapproval. "I realize you have difficulty sitting still for more than an hour, but I really have to recommend that you lay back down."

To give credit where it was due, there'd been no explanation about the necessities of bed rest, or mending broken bones, or stitches, or bandages again. Still. He tugged on the lapels one last time, keeping Simon in the corner of his eye. "Dope me again, son, and you're spendin' a few weeks on that bed yourself."

The doctor gave that sigh, the one that members of the medical persuasion reserved for particularly stubborn patients. He'd had that annoyance directed at him plenty in his life, and more times than he cared for from someone under his protection. "Where are we going then?" the boy asked, turning sideways to let him by, or maybe so as not to get pushed over, then falling into step at a pace leisurely enough to accommodate his injuries. Gorramn ship crash harnesses. The ribs had healed, but the fractured shoulder was going slower, mostly because Simon claimed he kept moving too much. This was going to get aggravating, quick.

"Crew's back from getting supplies." The captain winced at the sound of a backfiring engine outside the dingy hallway and rough beige walls that confirmed it, wondering if they had a functioning mule after all.

Simon considered this, blue eyes and expression skeptical. "I'm sorry, but doesn't that normally require money?"

One of the surest bits of proof that someone was Corebred: boy was with a bunch of crooks, and never once thought of the obvious first. He almost smiled at that. But, no, not this time, and not ever little Kaylee. "Don't need coin. Mechanic shops'll trade parts for skill, port like that can always use some extra hands."

The younger man had stopped, he continued on a step or so before he realized and glanced back, finding an unreadable expression as the doctor studied him. "Do you think that will really be enough?"

He turned fully. "Speak plain."

Simon debated for a few moments more, then his blue eyes blazed, determined. "Inara. She could help." The boy's voice hardened with accusation. "She should be here."

He closed his own eyes against the pain and covered with annoyance. "Well, she ain't," he retorted, with clear warning. Storming off wasn't exactly possible, but he made the attempt anyway, done with the conversation.

There was respect between them; leaving a posh life in the core for a sister who sometimes didn't recognize her own brother couldn't have been too easy, and while Simon didn't understand Mal, he understood Simon. And Simon at least appreciated the choice the captain made, risking the Alliance by taking him and his sister back on after they had taken their leave once. Sometimes they even almost got along. Didn't make the boy any less of an uptight self-righteous _yă pí shì _all other times.

The genius made the mistake of continuing. "And why is that?" Ignored the growl from behind gritted teeth, the white knuckled fists he was making as he tried to march away. "Something happened to her, didn't it."

Couldn't hide his reaction that time, the way his pace slowed completely, the way he had to turn to the rough wall for support, head down because his shoulders couldn't support the weight of his emotions anymore. Just for a second, he gathered himself.

And then he spun and advanced, dangerous. "You'd know, wouldn't you." The two of them, always with their gorramn secrets. He tried to hold onto that, onto the anger, but his voice was sounding hoarse.

"No," his medic replied, calming, "because you never told us." A pause. "Were you ever going to?"

Something broke again inside, something not a rib, but he buried the vulnerability before it showed and refused to look away. When he spoke, it came out low and quiet. "Would you've wanted me to?" he countered. Didn't appease. "Look, I know you were…" he groped around for the right words; truth be told, he didn't know _what_ they had been, and it'd been no small source of hurt for him. "You were something," he settled on, "and if I had the words to say, they would've been said."

Simon slowly nodded, accepting that as the best apology he was going to get. "If you see my sister, could you tell her I've been looking for her?" he asked, back to business, swallowing some kind of unwelcome pity. "I need to administer her injections."

All of the crew had some sport with Simon now and then; there was never a more honest and more gullible person born in all the worlds, and if River enjoyed worrying her brother, it was hard to deny her that fun. "Depends on if she wants you to find her."

He left the boy to prepare his sister's medications, cutting off the objections, and stepped out onto the dusty road leading away from the little makeshift hospital. The overgrown shrub to the right of him rustled. She would pick up on it, take it into her fragile soul, and he rode down on the ache. "Doc's looking for you."

Time once was, he'd have found talking to vegetation more than a little odd, but then River stepped out from her hiding spot and made a face at him, twigs in her hair, and skipped off ahead of him.

A small collection of similar bullet-ridden hardened mud-sand igloos laid before them, poor but decorated in hand made crafts and flowerboxes, with clotheslines strung up from eyelets and vegetable gardens out front. Block script was carved into two boulders at the town entrance, and beyond, a sea of grass waved underneath dry hills in the far distance. Jordan.

Few people were out in the midday at high summer; a woman draped in oppressively heavy looking fabric, arm wrapped around a vase of water she'd obviously carried some distance; another woman, older, resting under some shade of an awning on some kind of cushion, a veil over her head. Three giggling children and a dog were watching Jayne stomp around the hovermule through a shroud of unwholesome smelling smoke and Chinese swearing. Zoë was kneeling by Kaylee's side, holding a bundle of wires while the girl was shoulder deep inside an open panel. Both of them were dripping from the heat, Zoë's normally curly sienna mane almost straight.

River scrambled around to the back to climb up onto a couple crates they had towed behind them as he checked in with his mechanic. "I think the _xiăo láng_-_zi cān liáng hú xiāng dòu_ bandits maybe heard that. Don't want your arm in there if the mule explodes, _mèi mèi_."

"Just babyin' her, is all. She don't like the ground trailer we're haulin'," Kaylee sighed, wiping her free hand across her brow, then giving her usual megawatt smile. "Simon letcha out?"

"Sort of," the captain answered gruffly, distracted by their swag. He stepped around to the back of the mule, running his hands over the boxes. "You earned all this in one day?" Jayne snatched one of the packages away from the pile protectively, and climbed out of reach onto the back of the mule to open it.

"Nope, just the mail, got most of the parts I need already. Just waitin' on that replacement actuator I needed in the first place," Kaylee explained, rummaging through yet more wires deep within the machine. "Mama sent us some goodies after I waved Pa, and we had some other stuff redirected to us." She paused, a bit of worry creeping into her hazel eyes as she looked up at him. "You didn't hurt Simon none, did you?"

"I only threatened _a little_," he defended himself loudly, and grimaced, reflexively grabbing at his side. "Left him in the same condition you did," he continued, more carefully. Kaylee gave him a funny look, bit her lip, then went back to mothering her machine. Zoë raised an eyebrow at her then at him as Kaylee started asking for more of her tools. He just shook his head, wordlessly exasperated.

Jayne was already munching on some homemade cookies that seemed tiny in his paws, slowly reading a new letter from his mother. Considering how skittish Amnon had been about his postal service after the corrupt Fed had visited, the captain could only imagine how stale Jayne's post was. He looked over the boxes again, and pushed the lid off one of the larger ones that River wasn't sitting on with his good arm.

Stunned surprise slowly turned grim. "Sir?" Zoë questioned, standing, brushing the dirt off her pant legs.

He slammed the crate shut, startling all of them. "Who sent this? Kaylee? Any note?"

Kaylee climbed to her feet as well, looking confused. "It was with the other mail," she answered, "Figgered it was just more foodstuffs my folks sent." She joined Zoë curiously, standing by. "Why? What's in it?"

"She'll sleep for one hundred years before she wakes, but the spell can be broken before then," River intoned, smiling mischievously and kicking her feet off the side.

He narrowed his eyes at the psychic for a long moment, then pulled the lid off again.

The twin monitor displays of a cyrochamber blinked up at them.

Zoë and Kaylee blinked back, eyes wide, the mechanic's mouth a little open, as Jayne craned his head at the crate from above, trying for a better look. "Oh hell no," the mercenary exploded when he saw, swinging down from the back of the mule with a stream of profanity. "Folks in boxes is bad luck, Mal!" Jayne argued, giving the crate an unfriendly sneer. "I say we drop 'er in the desert from a couple hunnert feet an' let the fall sort out the rest."

Watching Kaylee pout angrily and swat at Jayne's bulky arm was like watching a puppy shame a bear. "Not even!" She put her hand out on the container, eyes filling with nigh irresistible Kaylee tears like whenever she tried to get him to take on some sorry mangy critter for a shipboard pet. "Poor thing, all lonely and helpless…"

The captain sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose to stem off a headache, then crossed his arms to give out orders. "Zoë, go get Simon to open up this _pān duō lā mó hé_." His first mate turned her wary eye from their newest surprise to him as he warded off both approbation from his soft-hearted little optimist and protests from his hired gun. "Someone knew where to direct all this to us. I want to know who, and I want to know how."

"Oh, yeah," Jayne quickly came around at that explanation, cradling one of his guns with an unsavoury grin. "My interest is particular as to the who."


	5. Chapter 4

Takes a while for me to write, to be honest, but I am writing still, whenever I get the opportunity to work on this. This one's a bit longer (yay?), mostly character study but with some plot development at the end. Thanks to Aliasse and Platonist for looking over my characterization of Zoë.

* * *

Chapter 4

Having grown up vessel side, her family militia-for-hire, Zoë hadn't ever really figured out the way some took to staring out into the black. The stars were always there, permanent and unchanging, wasn't like they were apt to disappear. Her husband had been appalled by her attitude, and had done a fair bit of teaching her appreciation through long, smoldering sessions of pure sensation. The two of them, on the bridge or in their bunk, wrapped in each other's arms, and stars like she had never seen them.

She thought maybe she understood now, wondered if the captain sought out the eyes of his mother in those distant lights, if Wash looked for his father's, same as she looked for Wash. Took her a while to retake the bridge, but during repairs she'd eventually picked up the job of repairing the front viewscreen, and she'd started falling asleep up there, just looking, waking up next morning tucked into a brown leather coat.

Never could find her mister out there, but maybe, as the gold faded and the first few specks shone from the deepening sky, maybe he was watching. And laughing, enjoying the village's music, the bonfire, the festive air.

He'd tell a joke – _'So who's Mal gonna drunk-marry tonight? My bet's on the seventy-year-old. She looks sprightly'_ – and she would smile, he would make her feel like smiling. And then, she thought, spotting Simon and Kaylee, they'd watch the fire together, him holding her, and he'd whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Man could talk better nonsense than River if he put his mind to it.

It was going to be one of those nights. She looked up at the stars again, asked them for strength. _If you're there, baby, I need you._ She braced herself as she walked through the crowd to the spread of food. Nodded to the young couple as she passed, torn between warning them of the religiosity of the townsfolk and the pang as their hands sprung apart. Simon distracted himself with River, drawing her away from the fire where she was arguing with Jayne over the meat he was turning.

She'd held grown men that way, rocked them to sleep wondering if they'd wake up. Her only brothers, and only one of them left.

"It's just lamb!" Jayne yelled after the girl, offended by her reaction to his cooking, "Ain't like ya never had dog 'fore now!" River paused long enough in ranting into Simon's shirt to stick her tongue out at the man. Zoë's expression was hardly an invitation, but Jayne wasn't the sort to pick up on cues like that. "Didn't even hafta poach this'n from the flock hereabouts, an' no tellin' when we'll have fresh agin. She keeps fussin' an' she don't get any when she wants some."

The man'd been sullen and ornery ever since they'd opened their mail, only mustering enthusiasm at having meat for dinner. Didn't feel like arguing. "Takin' some to the captain," she told him, putting together something resembling two plates and an appetite and ignoring how he shouted at River that see, Zoëy'll eat it.

The captain was about as she expected to find him: at the edge of the merriment, deep in discussion with the village patriarch, a calm, older man named Omar who looked like he'd let someone flatten his face as a boy. Most likely explaining how their new guest wasn't going to delay their departure, what with the Mal seeing the wide open plains of his lost homeworld everywhere and wanting to get a move on in the morning. The downtime had been good for them, but she could feel it, the restlessness that kept her watching the horizon. Wasn't safe, even when it was. They'd both taken that away from the war. Keep moving, keep breathing. Hold together as best could be and carry on through the pain.

Most of Ezra were nomads, caravans living off the herds they drove across the vast grasslands, only riding to outposts of the capital like Jordan to trade with kinsfolk. Even so, with the wanderlust in his own veins, Omar welcomed them to stay as long as they liked, keenly concerned about their salvation. Whenever the captain insisted the patriarch should worry for his own, that they were dangerous just being around, the patriarch would smile knowingly, stroke his grizzled beard, and talk about family and community.

The crew had been all but adopted by the villagers. Even this wedding reception was supposedly thanks to them, the groom a slave who had escaped after Niska's death.

The captain finally excused himself and made his way through the crowd, stopping now and then to exchange a few words but alone even when surrounded by people. A few boys trailed after him, staring and whispering and fighting over who got to wear an oversized brown robe for their play acting before they scurried off to invent their own adventures.

When she caught up, he was brooding against the side of the guesthouse the village put them up in, seated, glaring over his knees at the cryobox like it was ticking down. He'd been unusually withdrawn lately, and after Kaylee's rescue, she had a inkling what was troubling him. Seen it herself in the mirror. So she held his eyes when he started to refuse the plate she was offering until he relented, and then settled into her old place at his side. "You ever having the talk with Simon?" she asked, "He's gettin' jumpy."

The captain's mouth quirked up despite himself. "You mean about him an' Kaylee? Nah. It's funnier to keep him guessing. I'll spring it on him with the contraceptive talk." He shrugged, suddenly awkward. "It's tradition."

She felt a flash of gratitude for the topic, both because of the direction she wanted this talk to go, and because everyone was walking on eggshells with her about Wash. She was afraid she was forgetting him, impossible as it seemed. The smell of cheap cinnamon gum was fading from her bed, and she didn't know if it'd been real anymore. "And how long," she demanded, "did you string my man along with that _zhì qì é zuò jù_?"

"Three months," he admitted shamelessly. He popped another strip of roast into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. The air between them sobered, and he swallowed. The captain set his plate aside, finally looked at her for the first time since they started talking, eyes full of apology. "Zoë, you an' Wash, you were special together. Took me too long to see."

She drew a breath through her too tight throat into her too tight chest. "Don't think you've seen yet, sir." Surprised him with that one, and she pressed the advantage. "The next time you get that lovesick, you could tell us _before_ you run off and try to get yourself killed," she suggested, blunt and severe.

His expression darkened, and he gave a humourless laugh. "I let Kaylee die, and you can shoot me yourself." The captain surged to his feet, grimacing against the pain.

That was a dodge, his defensive brush-off. "May just take you up on that, sir," she replied, unruffled. "Wasn't talkin' on Kaylee." He'd been about to stalk away, but her words stopped him. She got up as well in case he decided to follow through on that impulse anyway.

She'd been by him through some of the worst hell ever conjured, through darkness like to drown them. They'd clung together, fought together, thought together, bled together, but always they'd been kicking for some light at the surface, or they'd have pulled each other under. "Who were you really tryin' to die for?" Zoë asked, "Because I don't remember you half so alive as when you were heading into a sure ambush for Inara."

"Zoë." Back turned to her, voice threatening. Dangerous territory, but there was grief there, hamstringing the both of them.

She stood tall, shoulders squared; they were soldiers, they would face this. "I miss him," she confessed. "Miss him so damn much, an' I know I shouldn't, not what I've seen." Her voice choked a little, but she pulled herself together, purged the emotion from her voice. He was watching now, and if she sagged, he'd catch her and not hear. "Ain't no stranger to death. Not even the first I've ever wondered how to go on livin'." Fiercely. "But I do. We do. 'Cause we're the only ones left to carry the memories."

His jaw set, stubbornly defiant but also uncertain about what to do in the pain he saw in her. He was saved from having to hear any more or making any kind of response by a chime from the cryobox. "SIMON!" he bellowed, "your gorramn patient is incubated enough!"

- - - - -  
The ocean was crying, every silver jewel a tear; they would remember, long after the reflections faded. She heard their silent whispers, so full of sadness, overwhelming her, hard to breathe. When she looked she saw everything with her own eyes, and wished she didn't feel so much that wasn't hers but she held them all close anyway and it confused her because she didn't know who (what) she was.

She hadn't meant for this to happen. She didn't know even if they'd ever shine like they used to, because the lambs had been _sacrificed_, the laughter and the faith were gone and the blood had seeped into her skin like a condemnation. No daggers had spilt the betrayal but the spots were there and she could not command them, they would not wash away.

But every night will end with a dawn and she felt her, ready to awaken, but long, so long before the morning will warm.

She was trying to explain this to Simon. Not going well. His mind was a list, running through the medications, worrying over combinations, whether he might be the indirect cause of her current distress. Unable to understand, desperate, but trying to comfort, like his arms and wishing could put her mutilated amygdala back together. Her mouth was arguing and rebelling against her insisting neurons, not saying what she meant. Disorganized thoughts cantered around rainbows and stormclouds and dipped their toes in shattered glass, coming out paper snowflakes.

The words weren't tying together with grammatical string, they stumbled over each other and trailed off into uncertainty. Her hair shifted and petted her arm as he cradled her. Wriggle. Not close enough, not to protect her from her own brain. Her nose scrunched up and she tried again. "I'm hungry."

Acceptable.

Kaylee glowed brightly again, no longer wavering, and Simon was basking in the sparkle of her light even as he thought his relief was the momentary coherence of his little sister. Too blind, can't really see yet, but the persistence of pretty eyes and affectionate hearts would change that. Her hopes smiled for them, insisted: no more sacrifice.

Another sunbeam for her, her friend had so many. "Still got my momma's tasties a plenty, if ya want some."

No, couple's time now. She pushed away, the hem of her skirt climbing her legs and needing correction, eyes jumping to each and every mingler around them. "Dessert, from the French, _desservir_, de-serve, clear the last course from the table, after entrée." Her toes shifted in the dirt as she watched them, then moved towards Jayne. "Need to wash hands."

'_Which reminds me, I should prepare some antitoxin_,' she didn't hear Simon say, then Kaylee's response, '_Oh, ain't so bad. Jayne burns everythin' too much to get anybody sick_.' Eyes still on her feet. Interesting shape, functional. Focus, she reminded herself.

The Neanderthal was hunched over his meat, protecting his food. "Didn't mean it," she told him. A ready snarl was waiting to eat contriteness, teeth already barring at her, terrifying sight by the flickering flame. The explanation hurried. "There were symbols, and they spoke to me, but the cooking was behaving and I shouldn't have listened."

"Yeah, maybe you shouldn've," he grumbled. A dismissal. Still here. Pout. Still pouting. "Aw, don't… _năo-cào_." He threw some pieces on a plate and pushed the dish at her, then turned away from the firelight. "Here. A woolly for a woolly. Now git."

Caverns of fire gaped their many mouths wide to swallow them, and she was chased to the other side of the fire until the revelers drowned out doom. The night darkened again with the grief of the captain and the first mate as they sailed through their oceans, and she clung to the presence of Simon and Kaylee through the storm, waiting for the inevitable.

- - - - -  
He watched her as she apologized to Jayne, as she finally settled down as part of the circle singing about legends around the fire. River, sparks floating so near to her, then up, seeming to disappear among thousands more scattered across the sky, this required some attentiveness.

This had been her first episode since they had crashed, she hadn't even been alarmed like the rest of them by their surprise mail earlier. He had thought that maybe, at last, he had found something for her long term stability, that the fresh air and the peaceful green meadows stretched for miles outside of the tiny village might be the cause of her improvement. But perhaps that had just been his own wishful thinking.

Kaylee had curled up into his side, trying to help keep an eye on his sister but ultimately more of a distraction. The crisis seemingly over, she nuzzled her cheek into his deltoid, sighing at the perfection of the same glittering lights her eyes had captured so well. "Ever seen anythin' so magical?"

The time they shared in her prismatic hammock in between repairs, the room blushing and aglow… The memories were unforgettable. This night was promising that it could fade away the world until it was only the two of them, only this moment.

Opening his mouth could ruin this for her. "No, this is new," he answered, thoughtfully, careful to consider every word. "Osirius is the seventh planet out from the core, so it's a dark world, but the cities make everything twilight. I never really saw the stars much."

"New?" she asked, surprised but still smiling. "Been up in _Serenity_ more'n a year now. Ain'tcha never just looked before?"

"Not really," he admitted, fighting the urge to squirm as he remembered the time they had been boarded by the Alliance, and to remain undetected, he and River had to put on the EVA suits and go outside. "This might come as a shock, but I don't actually do too well with spaceships or space."

No! Why did he say that? Kaylee pulled away a little bit, something pleading in her expression. "But… You do like it now? On _Serenity_?"

He fumbled desperately for some way to save the conversation, and that was precisely when River inserted her face between theirs, having somehow managed to sneak around behind them. "Time!"

They both startled, then, before Simon could wonder to ask, he heard Mal yell for him, loud enough that a few of the other people nearby turned to look. "The ogre calls," he groaned, rising and brushing dirt from his trousers. Kaylee shrugged and smiled apologetically, at least a smile, and he wordlessly thanked his sister for her insight as she dragged both of them off.

As they approached, Simon noticed the two soldiers were gathered around the cryochamber with guns drawn, and he broke away into a run. "What are you _doing?_"

Mal acknowledged him with a tense glance before nodding at the green indicator light. "It's done. Unlock it and step back."

"So you can _shoot_ them?" the doctor accused, outraged and incredulous. Unbelievable, just… Not for the first time, Simon asked himself if the man wasn't insane, or just completely barbaric and unfeeling.

The cold hardened glare he received might have frozen him in place, and not for the first time, he concluded it was a little of both. "Believe I gave you an order," the captain warned, low as thunder, and flicked the safety of his sidearm off. "Do it."

Simon almost shook with anger, defiantly holding the gaze of those menacing, icy eyes even as he stepped forward and undid the latches to the chamber. Mal had to push him away when he didn't immediately move; he relaxed, but only barely, still looking daggers, when Zoë gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head and Kaylee, River, and now Jayne joined them.

The quietest sound, an exhalation chasing the depressurized air escaping the opened lid. A breath to follow, lungs and heart reengaging in response. After a few seconds, Zoë raised her shotgun and Mal's arm fell slowly to his side, his pistol dropping, forgotten, from dumb fingers. A few seconds more, and then Mal was sliding his coat off his shoulders, laying it reverently over the sleeping figure within, then reaching, almost diving in, and lifting Inara out.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Wasn't the first man she'd ever mesmerized, he knew. Wouldn't be the last, either. As the glinting ice fog dissipated, his brain had to stop and register her, her sable hair and her peaceful features. She was curled into the cushions, lit up softly and looking like a new day under the night sky, and still, so ominously still.

More than her beauty, her perfection, it was the sacred life of her that captivated him, that shone from her golden skin, was in the rare honest smiles for him under her companion airs, in the flash of her endless eyes that spoke of a forever he could never have. Untouched by the pain and darkness in him but understanding and unafraid, calling to something that stirred in him, underneath all the wrong, something sweet, longing, hopeless, and which felt _right_.

And then she breathed. And the ache that didn't exist unless he was alone in her shuttle and it was tearing him apart, that feeling he couldn't, wouldn't name, the truth was on his face, in the tenderness of his hands as he covered her.

She looked so vulnerable. He needed to hold her, press her to his heart, to that hole that only she could fill, and feel her own heartbeat answer. She seemed to breathe him in, then shifted against him with a sigh, like she was trying to nestle more snugly against him, into the warmth he offered after the cold.

Someone snorted a laugh. His eyes snapped open and he was inwardly embarrassed that they'd gone and closed. "Jayne, I am two seconds from being armed."

"Oh, don't mind us, Cap'n," Kaylee piped up encouragingly, a big grin in her voice. "Take aaall the time ya need." Gorramn crew! Even Zoë was trying to hide a smile in spite of herself. He was giving them all septic-vat duty when they got back to the ship.

"Actually," the doctor intervened, sounding a little too amused as well, "I need to administer a series of injections to prevent cryogenic shock." The boy cleared his throat. "So if someone could please pry the captain off of Inara and carry her inside…"

Definitely too amused. In response, he wrapped an arm around the back of her knees, scooped her up, careful not to disturb her modesty, and turned, challenging anyone to make any further comments. To his satisfaction, as he strode past, Simon opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it.

"He missed her," he heard River whisper conspiratorially, not even having to read it from him, then heard Kaylee try to smother a giggle.

And now that she was in his arms, she was all manner of distracting; she was resting her hand on his chest, now tangling her fingers gently in the front of his shirt, now nuzzling her cheek into the fabric. The faded scent of her jasmine perfume was like a restorative that made him light-headed at the same time.

Kept his eyes ahead, fixed at some distant point beyond the door at the end of the tunnel-like hallway. He'd had one moment of weakness, so what if they saw? Wasn't like they didn't already know how she was in his head. Even Jayne had figured it out somehow, probably smelled the pheromones or something. But he would master this, even if every cell of him was singing for her, even the ones in his shoulder that were on fire.

Maybe carrying her hadn't been such a good idea, come to think of it. But somehow he managed to lay her onto the patient bed without wrenching anything, and drew the same bedding he had slept under for the past couple weeks up around her. Light fell across her face from an oil lamp as it was lit, and now he'd looked, and he couldn't look away, because her lips had curled into a contented smile.

At some point he'd sunk to kneeling by her bedside and he wasn't sure for how long but the hard floor was starting to hurt. He pulled back abruptly, stood, feeling odd, like a giddy rush of adrenaline gone awry, like he was floating, expanding and his skin was too tight.

Time to assess the situation and take charge. His first victim was rummaging around in the medical supplies, and that he could supervise. Unlike, apparently, making a joke of himself when it came to Inara.

Awful lot of needles being laid out. The worry came back immediately, as well as the protectiveness. "Putting an arsenal together there, doc?"

The boy ignored the vague warning in his voice, focusing entirely on extracting fluid into another syringe, looking particularly villainous in the dim light and shadows and cavernous lair, all pale skin and dark hair. Before he could make some damn fool effort at saving her from _Simon_ of all people, Inara rolled onto her side, the covers rustling, inadvertently distracting him. She looked small. Thin. Was that normal? She might be hungry.

He spotted the rest of his crew, alternately bored, troubled, intent, and excited, huddled in the doorway to watch, the woven hanging pushed aside. "Kaylee, go 'n see if any grub's left out there, scrounge somethin' up." Surprise clouded over the girl's barely restrained eagerness to see her friend, then something pleading started to appear in her hazel eyes.

"That won't be necessary," Simon explained before Kaylee could protest, with a tone of forced patience normally reserved for Jayne. "Cryogenic stasis completely halts the metabolism." The doctor drew out one of Inara's arms, prepared her slender wrist with surgical spirits.

After the third solution, Mal had taken to pacing and couldn't stop fidgeting. "She's not wakin' up."

An irritated huff of air. "That would be for the same reason she doesn't need anything to eat right now, her system hasn't yet broken down the drug that put her out. I'm going to give her a common counter-agent after these other shots, and if you would please _let me work_, I can administer it that much sooner."

The doctor didn't even have to stop or look his way, the captain quieted instantly. If his silence could help Inara, he'd give that and more. Unfortunately, it also meant he could now hear the whispers, was aware of Zoë quietly turning away and heading back out into the darkness.

The crew's littlest romantic was quietly cooing over his concern. "Aww, _jiù mèng chóng wēn_!" Kaylee gushed.

"Paunch airin' is what it is, grown man actin' so twitterpated," Jayne scoffed, hands shoved in his pockets and leaning back against the doorframe, "Ain't dignified."

Simon paused, the promised tonic juice hovering uselessly over his slumbering patient. "Do you even know what the word dignified _means_?" the genius asked doubtfully.

"It's whatcha ain't if'n you don't shaddup and my boot goes up your ass!" the brute snapped, then evenly returned Mal's glower. "Last I checked, pretty women and bygone days don't put coin in my pocket, and coolin' our heels in this spit a nowhere don't neither. You pay me to shoot stuff and don't be forgettin' it." Bad air vented, his mercenary posted off from the post and stomped off down the hall, curtain flapping closed like an afterthought.

Kaylee observed the exchange with alarm, and River something akin to pity. "He's been grumpy all night," the older girl began apologetically.

"Really couldn't care less about Jayne right now, _méi méi_," he replied, frowning at the doctor and Inara, the former gathering up the used needles. "Simon, you said that'd wake her up. She don't look awake to me."

The younger man sighed, had clearly had enough of his overbearing idiocy. "It will. Gradually. To ease both the physical and emotional shock. Although the threats, questions, and general bouncing off the walls have all been very helpful," Simon informed him testily, brushing past him over to Kaylee's side. "I'd like to check on her when you're done fighting, so I'll be back later."

He sent a scowl after the two of them, and realized with increasing nervousness that there was only one person left now between himself and the woman who could undermine his command of his crew _and_ himself in her sleep, and who would probably not be at all pleased to see him after the way he'd kicked her off his ship before.

River was already at the bedside when he turned back, dropping a welcoming kiss onto Inara's cheek. "You were taking too long," she complained at his befuddled look, and then was gone in a flutter of skirts.

- - - - -  
The amaranth seemed in a rush to greet the new year, popping amid the red lanterns hung from the cherry trees like the sparklers of children running through the dormitory gardens. Out beyond the high inner city wall, she could hear the clamor of festivity driving away bad spirits, welcoming the good. A few petals drifted aimlessly around her as she wandered the quiet paths alone, and the world outside faded away. She passed over a stone bridge, the surface of the still pool beneath scattered with floating candles and disturbed only by the occasional goldfish.

How many years had it been? The young face that looked back at her from the water was like a memory, wise and kind and sad. A woman who retired from her career, from riches and glamour, to tell her daughter stories of Camelot, Robin Hood, and Arabian Nights, even though her dreams were crushed and her body was withering away. _Xiăo xĭ què_, little magpie. Oh mother. Does Shirene ever get to be with Farhad?

Reminiscing as she was, she wasn't surprised to hear a coy voice, teasing her about a surprise. She turned, expecting her friend's sly smile and auburn hair, and found, instead, home.

How could they be here? They couldn't. But the cargo bay was open for her all the same and there they were, waiting to welcome her and they were the same as she remembered. Kaylee's bright joy, Zoë's calm vigilance, Simon's displaced kinship, River's sweet whimsy, and Jayne's simple gruffness. Nothing had changed, not the dimples around his smile or the crinkles around his blue eyes or the splay of his short brown hair, except for this, as he held her, lifting her feet from the ground. She ran her hands up along those inexplicable suspenders to his shoulders and thought she might be flying.

No, that could never be. The fantasy gave way to reality, but for a few minutes, she almost let herself surrender again, keeping her eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the smell of his leather coat. An essence of the Rim, of Serenity, earthly and dusty from the worlds they traveled among, just barely covering the hint of gunpowder and the cheap sage-laced soap he used.

It was silly, she knew, to hold onto these feelings; they were impossible, ridiculous, over before they had even had a chance. And yet they meant so much to her. Even if it was only something for her dreams, she would always be glad she had met him and the family he had built. With some lingering regret and drowsiness, she opened her eyes.

And then her mouth dropped open in shock. "_Ai yā, gāisĭ! Tāmā de xiōngxùn!_" she exclaimed. Mal startled from the cushion where he'd brooding, and had the gall to momentarily look impressed by her outburst, then offended. "Tell me this is a nightmare," she groaned, pulling the covers over her head.

He yanked them back down to her chin, annoyed. "Well, _nĭ hăo_ and _wănshánghăo._ Got some questions to ask you, if you don't mind." Not a question, and not negotiable.

Where was she? She deliberately scorned the bristling _hún dàn_ and took in the earthly room, the simple bed she was in, the low light of the lamp in the corner on the stone countertop. Even more alarming, she realized she wasn't wearing any clothes. Her brow furrowed. "Am I in a cave?"

His eyes betrayed a flash of pain that forced him to look away from her. "_Serenity_ crashed."

The emptiness in that statement explained and pardoned him. Fear gripped her for this man who had already lost everything, for the few people in his life keeping him functioning and sane, and she sat up, unconsciously clutching the sheets to herself. "Is anyone…?" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Nah. Had 'em all evacuate in the shuttles." The captain shrugged. She observed the careful stiffness in that movement and almost felt the ripple of dissonant energy associated with his injuries. _And you stayed behind_, she knew, without even having to ask. "They're outside, they'll get their turn after I've had my say," he told her, then frowned at her. "Why're you here?"

She had forgotten what a minute of conversation with him was like. She mentally recited the first of the five precepts: As the Buddha refrained from killing, so to will _I_ refrain from killing.

"You would know better than I would," she replied with false blitheness, "since you drugged me. Or did you opt for the ever-popular and traditional primitive wooden club?"

Mal stared, not understanding, not wanting to understand. "Wha…?" She immediately pointed at the box of syringes left out on the counter. There was a long pause as he made the connection, and when he turned his eyes back on her, they were like blue lasers. "Maybe," he seethed, "you oughta be careful 'bout the kinds of accusations you throw around."

"I am naked, in a strange place, and I just woke up with no idea how I got here," she sniped. "And you're asking for, no, _demanding_ an explanation? Thank you for your sensitivity."

"Hell, ain't the first time for you, surely!" he shouted back.

Underneath the simmering annoyance, the sting of his insults, part of her was struggling, trying to stop, dismayed that they'd fallen so quickly into the old patterns. What was she doing? She was practiced in self-control and in defusing conversations. She knew him, she knew how to read him, and she trusted him, knew he would never touch her or take advantage. He was concerned about her, about her current state. Yet she'd reacted to him by lashing out at his vulnerabilities, questioned his decency, his worth, his humanity.

But how much did she trust him, really? She never knew what he was thinking, could never predict him. The moment she thought he might finally open up to her, he had broken her heart instead, sent her away. He would never be able to be there for her, never be able to support her unconditionally. Not without destroying himself in the process.

All emotion had retreated behind that hardened mask, and he stood, his anger needing an outlet and finding it in stomping around as much as the tiny room permitted. "Three years now, you've been lying to me. I know, for a fact, that you coulda found a better berth than us. Should be no one knows where we are, yet you make one a your show-stoppin' entrances in a cryochamber sent straight to us." His feet planted, his hands fisted, ready for a fight, he finally looked at her, crossed his arms. "That means someone tracked us down, someone with a whole lotta connections, so I'm goin' to ask one last time. Who are you running from?"

"I'm not running from _anyone_!" she cried out, exasperated, wanting to throw her arms out and rant at him, and having to content herself with throttling the bedsheets between her hands. "I have never once lied to you, you're just completely paranoid!"

He stared her down, trying to intimidate her into saying what he wanted to hear, that she was in trouble, please save her, but there was nothing, only windmills for him to fight against. The silence stretched, snapped, and he turned on his heel, the curtain thrown violently aside before it eventually stilled as though he had never been there.

- - - - -  
Between leaving her and halfway down the hall, Mal realized that he'd just given up his bed for the night, and his mood had grown truly foul by the time he'd stepped out into the now chilly wind.

"Why in hell did I ever want her back?" he grumbled.

It was ever darker than before, could barely make out the next hut only twenty feet away, the bonfire had been extinguished and the villagers had dispersed. Just used to the oil lamp, most like. Zoë was somewhere nearby, couldn't see her but she'd heard him.

"You really want to know, sir?" There was something in her voice he couldn't quite identify, but it was not approving.

No. No, he didn't. He climbed up into the mule, pulled out one of the spare blankets from under the back seat and tried to settle in, but he doubted he'd be getting sleep any time soon.


	7. Chapter 6

Thanks to Aliasse and Platonist for looking this over. Had a hard time with this chapter, tell me if it's boring or if you have any ideas on how to improve it.

In the shooting script for Safe, there's a scene that didn't make the final cut. Simon had just gotten his residency and was celebrating with his parents, he asks if River will be able to join them. Both Gabriel and Regan are described as barely be able to restrain their sadness and fear when they answer him that no, she won't. And in an extended version of the scene where Gabriel bails Simon out of jail, Gabriel explains to Simon that this isn't about their position in society, but that they should be afraid for their very lives.

This leads me to believe that the Tams actually are caring parents, if perhaps a bit focused on success, and that they were aware of what was happening to River, very scared for her, and unable to do anything about it.

* * *

Chapter 6

Osirius: judge and god of the dead. From the ancient Earth-That-Was civilization that settled on the banks of the Nile.

If he hadn't known better, he might have thought someone at the Blue Sun Corporation had a sense of humour.

When the mega-conglomerate moved its headquarters from Sihnon decades before, it had generated widespread panic. Blue Sun _is_ the Alliance, many argued, and without help from the government, the entire economy might have collapsed. The public never quite realized the extent of the truth. Several unusually honest and astute members of Parliament ended up mysteriously dead, and the scandal they had uncovered, precipitating the exodus, was conveniently forgotten.

Little more than five years ago, a middling to high level Blue Sun manager from the wealthy, respected Tam family found out his employers had a dark side. He was black-mailed into secrecy, generally terrorized, and forced to enroll his daughter into a special school to ensure his compliance.

The family estate on the outskirts of Capital City was vacant, the parents taken into custody. Papers and glass strewn over the imported hardwood. A capture in the master bedroom of a girl, twirling in a pale yellow dress, was eternally frozen behind a broken picture frame. Lives interrupted.

The labs underneath the headquarters were similarly emptied. But he knew where they were now, and he would find them, and all the others who had disappeared just like them, no matter how often they were moved. He would deal their tormentors the fate they deserved.

All he needed was the right weapon.

- - - - -  
The silence of his absence was a balm, inevitable and disappointing, but a relief all the same. A few deep breaths and the diffuse light gentle on her eyelids were almost enough to convince Inara through the frustration. Sometimes she longed for indifference, for a day when he could no longer affect her, when they would no longer fight.

Or better yet, the day he was completely dumbstruck by her. That was a cheering thought, the affectionate amusement of imagined friendly banter. In her fantasy, they didn't say hurtful things and there was nothing to hold her back. She would win through teasing, surprise him with flirtation. Then, when he asked, cautious and shy, lonely and wondering, she would surprise him even more.

In any case, he would return, barging in as usual, feigning innocence and pretending like he was just passing by. She sighed; leave it to Mal to find her a room that looked like the adobe chapels in ancient times where crusading knights might come to pray.

The captain would not think to fetch any of the crew to give her a proper welcome and update in the meantime. Which posed another problem: she was not as lacking in clothing as she had thought when she accused Mal of abducting and undressing her. A rare display of chivalry, leaving her his coat was hardly an improvement over just the bedsheets.

Not that there anything chivalrous in how the sleeves had slid almost lovingly down to her lap when she sat up before, too alarmed then by him to notice. Choosing not to acknowledge the mortifying blush across her suddenly burning skin, she kicked the leather garment away from her legs, then held it up, worrying her bottom lip as she considered.

Could she? _Should_ she? The feel around her, indulging in the embrace of his intoxicating scent… But, no, she couldn't give him the satisfaction, couldn't allow him any sort of claim over her. She briskly folded the coat and set it at the foot of the bed, resolving to return it as soon as possible.

Although, if he never found out… Scarcely thirty seconds later, she was having trouble with the last button when a knock on the wall startled her. What to do? She could pull the incriminating evidence over her head and toss it in the corner, be underneath the covers in less than a second.

No. She would receive her visitors with as much dignity as she could muster. She quickly composed herself and crossed two steps over to the bed, settling down onto the mattress.

"Knocking is unnecessary," noted the unmistakable and promisingly lucid voice of a sighing teenaged psychic.

"Hey, 'Nara! It's us!" Kaylee called, effervescent as ever and almost drowning out Simon's attempt to explain to River that announcing oneself was only polite.

Her friend's enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. "_Qĭng jìn_!"

The girls exploded into her room like a sunburst, and before she'd half-way risen, River took her hands and spun her around, dancing lavender. "You look lovely, _méi méi_, is that the dress I gave you?" The teenager barely had time to nod before Kaylee pounced, a happy floral print blur hopping up and down in make-up and ballet-laced flats, her russet bouffant brushed to a high gloss; remnants of an interrupted tryst.

The other half of the couple had dressed down, a simple blue pullover and slacks, and the two had met somewhere in the middle. "We've really missed you," the dark haired doctor explained, with a small nod and a smile that was partially for his sister.

"I can see that," Inara answered, laughing with the exuberance of the greeting. She turned in Kaylee's hug to catch River as well, and the three of them fell back together onto the mattress. After a few moments she extricated herself from the giggling tangle, a little breathless herself. "But what happened? _Serenity_ crashed?"

The sunny mechanic waved a hand, quick to confirm what had already been said and observed. "Don't worry none about us, we're all just fine! Zoë an' Jayne are outside, and, well, guess ya saw the captain already." Inara nodded, she didn't really need the reminder. "He got most banged up of alla us on account of him bein' the one to crash 'er. But that was only 'cuz of Niska's people shootin' us down after I got snatched an' Cap'n killed him," Kaylee chirped, finishing with a megawatt smile that belied the story and a lingering trepidation.

All speech abandoned the companion. "You're staring," River informed her, then reversed their usual roles and began playing hairdresser to long black curls.

Eventually, they explained all the details, about how the sadistic crimelord hadn't harmed Kaylee because he wanted the captain to give up without a fight, about how Mal nearly did and had to be rescued by everyone else. It was a joke for them, or at least they had tried to make it one, but it wasn't really funny, how close they'd been to dying.

It was best to not think about, and Inara rubbed a worried crease away from her forehead. "So we're crashed on…"

"Ezra, about twenty miles from the capital," Simon supplied, with a somewhat pained expression. "My condolences."

She shook her head, careful not to dislodge River's work. Nothing to be done about it, she was here now. "You all look well," she commented instead, glad considering all they'd gone through.

"Yes," the doctor agreed melodramatically, "it's taken my every effort." His sister stuck her tongue out at him, then started over on the elaborate twist she had been attempting.

"I doubt it's been _too_ much of a chore," she chided, arching an eyebrow at him and nudging his date, who grinned back mischievously. Simon blushed and busied himself with the box of syringes he'd left out, trying to avoid further inclusion in all the female excitement.

Kaylee jauntily patted down the leather lapels. "Lookin' pretty good yourself," the bubbling girl teased. "I asked around and got some clothes together for ya, but maybe you don't want 'em?"

Inara took a deep breath, steadying herself and trying to remain unaffected. "I do, thank you. Much as I appreciate Mal lending me his coat," a smile, perfectly communicating that she meant 'not at all,' then an airy shrug, "I'm afraid it does _nothing_ for my figure."

"Bet the captain wouldn't think so," Kaylee insisted. Misunderstood, again, the gentle dissuasion, the wordless plea. "Oh, 'Nara," she breathed, "if only you'da seen, way he first looked atcha…" Simon made a choked objection from where he was leaning against the primitive counter, having abandoned all pretense of not listening in. She simpered, gave him an apologetic glance. "Sorry. It was real sweet is all. Guess it didn't last too long."

So they heard. "We always fight," she reminded them, and with not a little admonishment directed at herself. "I said some things that perhaps I shouldn't have, but you know how he is." Distrustful and unwelcoming, and capable of provoking her more than any other person she'd ever met.

Her confidant looked disappointed, but it was River who spoke, her hands stilled mid-styling, her melancholy voice imitating a rustic accent. "He's just umbragey," she murmured, eyes wide and unfocused, "Not your fault. You come from the core lookin' all glamour an' smarts, but out here on the rim it's just us. Sometimes can't see across the distance, why you'd even wanna be out here."

The girl pulled away from outstretched arms, drifting waifishly. "River…?" Simon asked, uncertainly.

"Misery. Hurts. Bad dreams and steel angels. They bombed Lindalino._ Lights of ships moved in the fairway, a great stir of lights going up and down. And further west in the upper reaches it was marked ominously on the sky_." She straightened, tensed, as though struck, then slumped. "So tired."

"It's withdrawals," the doctor assessed. "You'll sleep better if we wait until tomorrow." River gave her brother one of her looks, not needing the explanation, but her other comment had him too worked up into full protective big brother mode to notice. "Are you having nightmares again?"

Kaylee hopped off the bed, and reached an arm around the smaller girl, who gratefully leaned into the support. "It's okay, I'll sit up with her for a while," she announced, exchanging a look with Simon like she wanted to say more, then helped River off to bed.

Simon watched after them, visibly suppressing the urge to follow, then approached with a penlight and sat on the bedside cushion. "How are you feeling?"

Her lashes flicked away, somewhere outside to a lone soldier keeping vigil against the moon. A half laugh, half sob managed to escape through her fingers. "I don't know, I thought I'd never see any of you again, and now..." Emotional turmoil. Her affection for them struggling with her distress that distance could no longer protect them, with the heartbreak her staying would cause. "I don't know why I'm _here_."

The doctor shifted awkwardly. "Actually, I meant if you're feeling anything odd, any nausea, or numbness, lingering side effects from waking up." He glanced towards the hall, then lowered his voice, full of sympathy. "You don't recall anything? Not the cryochamber?"

"No," she answered. The light moved back and forth in the usual ritual-like medical examination, and she watched obligingly, trying to distract herself. But she needed to hear. "How long have I been gone?"

"About a month," he told her gently, though it was impossible to soften the blow of the news.

Her eyes misted and she buried her face in her hands. "Everyone is going to know…"

"At least you won't have to tell the captain again," he offered supportively, the pen light clicking off. "I can't even imagine how hard that must have been."

Her chin lifted and she blinked, her tears too alarmed to fall. "A-again?" she coughed.

"Well, yes," Simon sounded uncertain despite the affirmation, as though realizing his error, "He was bad after you left, sulking and snapping at everyone, but he's been more subdued recently." At her stricken expression, he hurried onward. "After the crash, Mal didn't wave you to ask you for help, and when I asked him why… He knew, and he accused me of keeping secrets."

Despair and Mal were an association Inara was well accustomed to. When had he found out? How? As long as he didn't know, she could fight back, and feel alive and strong. Now it would become real. She couldn't bear to face his pity, his emptiness and loss.

"What am I going to do?" she whispered.


	8. Chapter 7

This is a shorter one, but plot heavy, introducing a few minor characters. Thanks for reading, we'll get back to our crew next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 7

Fire sputtered among the wreckage in the road, barely enough to make out ruined walls and architectural shells. The clear sky seemed to be siphoning the heat from the desert into the black, and crouching behind the makeshift barricades was shivering misery.

One of the two teens, tall, thin, and swarthy, crossed his arms and pulled his tan linen robe tighter. He shifted, trying to hold in some warmth and to find some position against the junk pile that wouldn't give him tetanus. His brown eyes were staring, short black hair hidden by _keffiyeh_. "Have they gone?" He muttered out of the side of his mouth, gritting his teeth.

The other peeked out over the top of their cover, looking like his companion but for a broader nose, firmer jaw, and stockier build. A few deadly crimson beams sought them out, and his partner dragged him back down. "_Ittakil al Allah_!" he yelled, "Go away! I need to piss and I want to sleep!"

Renewed laserfire answered him. "You forgot hungry," his friend observed wearily.

A flurry of bombs and shuttles had descended on the cityscape hours ago, timed to the second that the Georgian sun dropped below the horizon. Like clockwork, colouring everything twilight purple.

The space port had been entirely cleared, except, it seemed, for them. Once the invaders secured the area, they started building, scurrying around to set up some of the largest mounted guns either of them had ever seen. Glittering black-scaled cables radiated from the complicated-looking newtech like a forest of vile trees taking root.

"You think your little brother found a way through?" The outfit patrolling the streets were numerous, well-trained, and well-armed.

Some strange cross between wistful, proud, and grim, bitter memories of slavery and helplessness raged behind the cheeky reply. "Just fine. Niska's best greaseman, years of experience, and the _ghabi haiwan_ don't have half a brain between them."

The quieter of the two had his doubts; if the tiny boy was as good as claimed for sneaking and getting in and out of tight places, why had he never escaped? But then their little scout was sidling up beside them, panting from exertion and adrenalin. The eleven year old was almost skeletally thin and dressed in rags. "Hey Roach," his brother greeted, "found us an out?"

The answer, as ever, the boy simply padded away silently instead, and they followed.

From its very earliest days, New Jerusalem had centered around the activity of its docks, major roads growing outward like a spider web, radiating in lines and everything tightly packed together. After sneaking away from the junk pile and making their way through a maze of evacuated homes and blocky sand-coloured buildings, their pathfinder lead them up onto the rooftops.

Now and then, the lightning flare of a flashbomb from the streets below and to the sides warned of new prisoners, and prompted them onwards, over, under, through. Down into the back alleys, into fluttering white sheets hung on a clothesline.

A couple bullets tore through the linen, barely missing them, followed by a carbine attached to a blonde foreigner in an indigo _choli_ and _lehnga_, her midrift bare except for gossamer and her hair pulled back except for bangs. She stared at them, then sighed and lowered the gun barrel. "Inside. Now."

Her twin sister in green ushered them through a doorway off to their side. The shop within was part lounge and part general store; a cushion scattered sitting area for business, surrounded by shelves stacked with strange, glittering wares pawned from off-worlders, with patterned woven fabrics and rugs for sale covering wood-and-paper paneling.

A small girl behind the counter looked up, her almond eyes widening and chin-length black bob-cut swishing as she ran off into the kitchens to fetch their boss.

The woman who emerged after a short time was a giant of local colour, head scarf and smoky narrowed eyes and a rounded, matronly face and body. Despite her apparent love of food, she looked like she could break anyone who crossed her in half. She was equally suited for her ankle-length skirt and apron as well as the professional looking waistcoat she wore over both, and her overpowering perfume, mixed with the smell of cooking spices that seemed to hang around her, permeated the store and declared it hers.

She dropped into the largest of her velveteen chairs without ceremony and flicked one bangled wrist for them to join her, picking up an ornate glass pipe with her other hand. "Busy out there tonight," she commented, her low voice more casual than the topic would suggest, and she took and released a thoughtful puff of smoke. "And only rumours and speculation about who exactly all my refugees are running from."

"Shoshenk, it has to be," grumbled one of the blondes, "He and his Niska loyalists are harassing everyone, trying to reestablish their crumbling empire."

The larger woman's shook her head, silencing with a look before they heard another tirade. "He's ambitious enough," she conceded, "but the slavers couldn't shut down the docks like this if they wanted to. This is someone else." The boss returned her attention to the three boys. "So, any ideas?"

- - - - -  
Deep in the Burnham Quadrant, furthest planet out in the Blue Sun system, one wouldn't expect to find such a brilliant, glittering, civilized world. Blue Sun the company had invested in its eponymous solar system for almost as long as there had been terraforming activities, and here was their crown jewel, a place where their executives could retire with their families, little known and unaffected by the politics of the Core, which also made it perfect for their research and development divisions. Anyone who came here could be certain of being able to find a job, land, and a home, if they managed to hear about it first.

As close as the planet was to the helioformed brown dwarf it orbited (in fact the very first to undergo such a procedure, also courtesy of Blue Sun), the light was almost harsh, ten times the brightness of the sun from Earth-that-Was. Stark shadows, and at the same time, no where to hide. For anyone who had never lived there, it took some time for the eyes to adjust.

His communications officer kept blinking distractingly, eyes watering whenever he looked out from the bridge of their sleek, top of the line Iskellian patrol boat. The brown-haired captain wasn't sure if it was the light bothering the man's paler eyes, or if the man was concerned for his family. The power grid had shut down some time ago, shortly before Alliance command had called for a complete quarantine, and since they had come down to investigate, they had heard nothing. No local chatter, no response even from the teams they had sent out. No noise, from a city of millions, in the middle of the day.

He wondered about his own parents and his brother, then quickly pushed the thought aside, not entirely sure whether he wanted to know. They just needed to hear back from Dr. Caron. The woman had set out taking his few remaining men with her, her coppery hair shining in the sun. Full of her usual spunky determination and a smile just for him to quiet his objections, certain she knew just what was going on. Something about suspecting a leak from the chemical plant, and once she shut it down, everything would be fine.

And he had believed her, because she had never been wrong before, and because he needed to believe her. Because there had been something very sad, and very final in the way she had told him to expect them back in a few hours.

"Someone's coming!" His officer sat up eagerly, the growing sense of disquiet and despair that had been hanging around them dissipating as he looked out and saw them. Three men, uniformed and in standard-issue armor, with assault rifles.

"Looks like they've encountered some trouble," he replied, noticing their ripped clothing. Why hadn't they made contact before? Well, he supposed he couldn't complain, finally they might be able to find out what the hell was going on. "Let's give them a hand, Ray," he ordered, already heading down the steps from the bridge, stopping by his sparsely decorated office to fetch his gun while his subordinate grabbed a commpack from the lockers by the console.

Down the stairs past the top airlocks, down the ramp to the cargo bay, into the open. The soldiers ran up, panting. All three of them looked almost wild. Something was wrong, and the captain's hand went to his holster.

"They've gone crazy!" One of them shouted. "All of them! First nothing, then they turned on each other!"

"So much screaming," whispered the guy in the back, twitching, looking from side to side, looking for some threat he could no longer see, staring blankly.

The other soldier was clutching his head with one hand in confusion, unable to comprehend. "They just… What they saw, they just snapped or something… Oh god. What happened here? What happened to everybody?"

"What about Dr. Caron?" the captain demanded, "Is she all right?"

"Dead, dead. She has to be," answered the first soldier.

"So many bodies!" screamed the most shaken of the three, a knife suddenly in his hand, whirling, cutting, stabbing, even as the other two immediately rounded on him. Panicking, their shots missed erratically and the other man pounced, enraged, roaring. Right for the jugular, teeth and claws, tackling the communications officer before his former comrades had even fallen to the ground, his face a bloody mess.

He fired once, as the madman turned from the third corpse, once more when his would-be attacker didn't even slow down, and the captain stepped back, hit the panel for the outer airlock, gun still trained on the cannibal as he leapt. The doors slammed home, the berserker still straining to reach him even while being slowly crushed. Another shot, directly through the helmet, and this time the man went limp.

The captain waited in the darkness, avoiding the one interrupted shaft of silver white light shining like an interrogation, waited for his heartbeat to slow, to be sure the crazed murderer wasn't going to start moving again, to see if the other men would.

He gathered himself, stepped back out and checked them, pulled them off the ramp, the red streaks the only colour in the landscape of black, white, and grey. Only hours before, these men had lives, a past and a future that was more than the dust of a dying world.

The task. Grief and sympathy were dangerous gates to self-pity. The captain recovered the communication officer's headset, crackling with static, then frowned and increased the volume. He amended his assessment: inhuman shrieks definitely weren't static. And the several more nearby that replied didn't sound like a welcoming party.

He double checked that the blastdoors were securely closed before retreating to the bridge, punched in the start-up sequence and set the com station to broadcast all channels. "This is Miranda Orbital Patrol, number 3263827. If anyone out there is NOT a blood-thirsty psychopath, please respond." Were it not for the desperation underlining the request, it might have been comical.

The voices from the headset stopped for a brief, unsettling moment, then came back louder, accompanied by the sound of distant ship engines and thousands of tiny blips appearing on his radar.

- - - - -  
Rubble crunched under dull black boots, a lonely noise amid distant shouts, familiar in its criticism of the utter waste of combat. Found another one, someone shouted. Half buried, unconscious, still breathing.

Not that it would do the poor bastard much good.

The heavy clomp of a platoon leader approached, gear clinking with every footfall. The naval officer straightened, his grey double-breasted _mao_ uniform worn and tired looking compared to the much younger man's new helmet and armor and eager, earnest expression. Nine years of peace, and all they had to lead the ground forces were fresh faced recruits straight from officer's training. But then, they didn't need veterans for this.

"East perimeter secure," the soldier announced.

He nodded, at the same time monitoring the technicians working on the other half of deployment activity with disinterest. "Reinforcements will relieve your shift at dawn, after which report with your men to the main air-strip to bring your prisoners back to the _Ratched_. See that your area _remains_ secure until then."

The soldier hesitated, uncertain whether he was dismissed without being told so. "Sir? How long are we going to be on Ezra?"

"How much resistance have you encountered?" the captain of the Tohoku-Class Cruiser asked.

"Minimal, sir." The marine sounded disappointed.

He shrugged. "Then you have your answer. Excuse me, lieutenant. We have peace to restore and a rebellion to end." The man saluted and left him to contemplate the ruins around him. _And lucky us_, he thought, sarcastically, _it's too late for either_.


	9. Chapter 8

Oh River, giving away all my secrets. But she'd kick my ass if I tried to stop her. You know how it is.

Thanks to Aliasse and Platonist for looking over this for me. We're slowly moving along in the plot. Once we get heading for the city, we'll have some action again.

* * *

Chapter 8

Too quiet. Now Finagle's Law must intervene, deus ex machina with infernal engines and guns materializing out of the nothing. Then let there be light, but it must be dug up, it hides in a palace in a cave over the horizon, afraid to look on the misdeeds of the early hours.

He may understand better than anyone of misfortune and the curse of breath. Doesn't dare to exhale, though it won't prevent the loss. Cradled in darkness, his heartbeat so loud it might leak out his ears. The yells and shouts of a final murmur thunder around him in the dead silence. A large shadow moved cat-like across the tiny sliver of light, the one crack in his fortress. Nowhere to go, no matter how much he curls in on himself, all boxed in. Drops stained a pristine white carpet and sharpened steel rasped harshly back into place before the muffled bootsteps finally went away.

Even when the others came, cleaning up and arranging, he didn't emerge. He knew this game, he'd been playing before. But this wasn't for fun now, he didn't know these people in their suits and with their bags and chemicals that made his tear ducts sting. They took the face in the mirror with them, took nobility and innocence. A voice that whispered then called his name lifted him out of the cubbyhole and held him like something precious, but there was only cold comfort and fear in her familiar blue eyes.

Those eyes darken to the blackness of space, and the stars go out. History repetitious, the snake bites its tail without seeming to recognize the pain. Three little sisters, a tall one with dried blood stained into her skin. Marching steadily forward, before her eyes she would hold steady the image of what she wanted but will not turn to embrace. She won't look at the echo waiting behind her for fear the memory will disappear.

Delight has a flavour like strawberries, but they are tasted on stolen time. Pretend to not crave them in the open when they grow so near the fresh graves. Fruit is best if it is forbidden.

And don't cough. Fear for family is nothing to be embarrassed about, no matter how distant they seem. Strength and muscle and a little coin in a letter goes a long way. Did it for them, became the beast they needed even after being chased away. Now it's time to hunt, and afterwards to feast in the bounty and vice and secretly keep everything going a little longer. Indulgence keeps the instincts honed. To soften is to die.

She saw them, all of them. Comforting familiar presences and feelings pressed into her, kept out the noise, the _knowing_. Old fears, keeping out the new. No longer overwhelmed, she was separate from them, padded between them in a celadon hospital gown and leggings.

This detestable gorge, this womb of death, ready to swallow her and choke her with aseptic perfume. Push aside the curtains. Clean and sterile. Steady beeping of monitors and the whirr of overhanging scanners. The apothecary consented, didn't even charge the full forty ducats. His flawed poison took a higher price instead. They pushed needles into her skin until she couldn't remember forever, until screaming was her past and future. Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb.

She heard it all in the stony passage. Speaking in riddles and seeing their forgotten nightmares.

There was whimpering when she fled.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Zoë had watched an awful lot of sunrises recently. Back in the war, there'd never been time for it. Always camp to break, or some futzing to do with six months expired fire jelly that didn't heat rations evenly, or shrapnel to dodge.

As the sun inched up over the grassy plain and the sky went through a parade of pastel colours, sometimes she had crazy thoughts that she might miss all that. All the stubborn would-be couple drama made her want to smack Inara's head into the captain's and lock the two of them in one of the shuttles together. It'd be a fair turn, considering the accidental help Mal had been for Wash and herself.

Those early years on _Serenity_, they'd had a different mechanic, barely more than a boy and miles away from Kaylee's skill. Bester's brain most likely had been completely sun-addled from that beach hut they'd pulled him out of, but once he was gone, the only targets Mal and Wash had for their prank war were each other. She wasn't sure how it had started, but she was pretty clear on how it ended: a night of drinking, a shaved moustache, an angry and hungover Wash in the morning complaining to her about their psychotic captain, yelling, then… Well, more arguments, but mostly to hide the heavy breathing and the other yells.

"Zoë?" She might have wondered if the companion had taken classes on how to call a person's name if Inara hadn't sounded so uncertain. Zoë blinked away the gathering memories and looked down from her perch on the mule at a knee-length floral riot. One of Kaylee's outfits. Too bad, would've been interesting to see the captain's reaction if Inara had come out actually wearing the carefully folded bundle of leather she was hugging so close.

She felt a smirk pull at her lips and an eyebrow as she watched Inara take in their surroundings apprehensively. "Welcome to Ezra. Sleep well?"

Their cryobox mail frowned slightly, all big, dark, troubled eyes. "Apparently." Gentle sympathy broke through the clouds as the other curly haired woman studied her, sitting out by herself. "And you?"

Zoë took a breath against the sudden tightening in her chest. "I try. Gets lonely though," she admitted, and understanding passed between them. She let her eyes drift away, beyond the glowing heavens.

"You're not alone," Inara reminded her gently, and smiled with a wistful kind of encouragement, reaching out to squeeze solace into one of her hands.

She'd disliked their renter at first. The captain needed his wits about him, especially since his second in command always had her questions whether he had any wits to begin with. She needed him to bring her home safe to Wash. Neither of them ever thought that it might be the other way around too.

But even more, they needed the money, and considering all the jewelry and Sihnon silks it seemed the courtesan could more than afford the full asking price. Didn't take any vaunted Alliance education or Academy training to figure out why the captain had given her a twenty-five percent discount. Didn't help that Kaylee and Wash had been so impressed with her, either.

So it had been easy, for a while, to dismiss her as some _kōngxīnlǎodà yínfù_ just slumming it with them. Until she saw the worry in Inara's eyes, whenever they left for some crime; until she came to understand most of those riches were gifts, and that the certified companion was struggling as much as they were to find work out on the Rim. She'd started to wonder, who was this woman who so fascinated the captain, who could steer him back on course when it seemed no one else could. When Inara had been gone, she'd seen some of Mal's misery return from back before they'd purchased _Serenity_, back when he thought he had no life or future ahead of him and that everyone in the universe could go to hell for all he cared.

Inara had stood with them to send the Miranda broadwave, had sat by her during the hard nights when she couldn't keep the grief at bay and patting circles on her back. Yet today, it grated. This silk stocking, pretending like she knew a thing about death and loss, like she'd dug graves to bury the broken bodies and pieces of men and women she'd fought beside. What gorramn good would it do to see her husband again in another life if neither of them were the same person and couldn't remember? Wash couldn't ever come back, he was gone. Yet here was Inara, and here Inara was still bickering and fighting the inevitable and wasting time. She'd been on the bridge when Mal had gotten the message, had seen him die a little more. When the captain finally got himself shot, what then? So long, see you next time?

"Where is Mal, by the way?" Inara asked, suddenly remembering the coat she was carrying, bringing her hand back to stroke the tanned leather absently, "I would have thought he'd be out here with you." Her lips curved up in amusement. "He's not hiding from me in the backseat, is he?"

"He's avoiding you," _Serenity_'s first mate confirmed bluntly. The wrested pain and regret wasn't near satisfying as expected when Inara's smile fell, and Zoë took pity on her waving vaguely towards Mal's general direction. "He went off that way to find his gun and wake Jayne up."

Inara winced, shivering slightly from the cold morning air. "I hope the two aren't related."

"The day is young," Zoë replied wryly, idly pulling her sawn-off and checking the magazine, then shoving the forty-four home. "Gonna be fetching the shuttles back to _Serenity_, 'spect Captain'll want you flying if River's too unsettled."

"Which is looking more'n more likely," Mal joined in as he approached, dropping a parcel onto the backseat, then leaning against the side of the mule, arms crossed. "Made some kind of ruckus in the parsonage over breakfast."

Jayne stomped over to the ground cart to secure their supplies, unaccountably eager to get under way and wolfing down the last of a protein bar. River trailed behind the man and immediately began undoing everything. A worrisome memory a year and a half old surfaced, involving Jiangyin hill folk, witchcraft, and torches. "Loudish?"

"These are uncommonly tolerant folk," he answered, "but let's not impose on their hospitality much longer." Uh huh. Zoë had no doubts his hurry was more to do with his local popularity and the ration of jokes waiting for him than the villagers. He scanned over Inara, taking in her new fashion and her bare legs, sliding from her ankles up to her ruffled hem before catching himself. "Zoë? You seen…?"

His first mate took his holster from the seat beside her and tossed it to him. "Left it with your coat," she answered, "Inara found it."

He frowned, then shrugged and wordlessly slung his gun belt around his hips, missing the sharp glance, the slight headshake in response. No problem, just in case. "Kaylee?" he asked, once mollified that his side arm was secure. Zoë merely raised an eyebrow, and he sighed in irritation. "_Tā shí jiàng yào nòng shāng_… Really don't want to see her unshucked. Someone go flush out the rabbits."

"Hey, I'll do it," Jayne piped up, mustering a not-quite-sincere innocent look from around a crate and altogether too interested.

"Doc'll be naked too, Jayne," the captain shot over his shoulder, exasperated.

"Make Zoëy do it," the lout immediately changed his mind, and went back to fighting with River over their packages. The girl threw something that sounded breakable with a loud crash.

Mal shook his head helplessly and his second in command snorted a laugh. "Just leave that for now," he ordered, "We need Kaylee to check the shuttle engines, and we're bringing 'em back here to load up anyway." The other man grumbled something at River then lumbered off, presumably to go scavenge some more food. "And knock it off with that sleep phrase!" Mal called after the merc, "Gonna scramble the girl's brains again or something, getting it wrong all the time." Jayne threw his hands up and stomped down the stairs into the commons building and out of sight.

Now, a dilemma. The corporal watched her sergeant with detached patience. Mal was being too pigheaded to speak to Inara after their fight, couldn't send her away to look for his mechanic any more than he could actually work up the nerve to talk to her. But the longer he was in her presence, the more likely he was to embarrass himself, and the more he delayed, the greater chance of being teased.

Zoë received a scathing glare from him, warning her that he knew what she was thinking. Cleared his throat, looked away. "Inara. Feel up to s'more abduction? Don't even need a club, and it's for a good cause."

She looked pleased he'd finally spoken to her, and only slightly disappointed it had taken so long. "What, annoying Simon?" she grinned, amused.

"That's a good cause!" he defended, "it enrichens the 'verse with humour, that's downright charitable!"

"I'm sure it is," Inara hummed with merry skepticism. Her expression turned sincere. "I don't mind," she told him, a concession of some sort. They gazed at each other a moment or two, long enough for Zoë to feel a twinge of nostalgia, then the captain grunted some kind of acceptance and made to climb up into the mule. Inara hesitated. "Mal?"

He glanced at her, halfway between the ground and the carriage, then his eyes dropped to his coat in her arms. "You hang onto that for now. Keep you warm." She beamed at his unspoken apology, and he pulled himself up past Zoë into the driver's seat.

Zoë watched the other woman walk away, catching her turning to look back at them now and then. "And in about an hour or so," the more practical of the two browncoats commented, "she'll be keeping warm in ninety degree summer weather." He glowered at her, which she countered placidly, until finally he grumbled and crossed his arms, glaring at the dash instead.

"You know," he said, "someday, you're gonna be wrong about somethin', and I'll have all these years a practice from you on how to give a body a hard time."

"Glad you've been listening, sir," Zoë replied, and they fell into an amicable silence while they waited for the others.


	10. Chapter 9

Sorry about the delay. The holidays put me about a month behind with my writing schedule. I'm about back to normal, and next chapter will be tying the crew into the actual plot instead of all this character interaction/relationship/set-up stuff.

* * *

Chapter 9

She followed the quiet murmurs through the excavated halls, trailing her hand along the sandy walls and trying to settle her feelings. Not thinking about Mal was best, not thinking about the fluttering that resulted whenever something like civility passed between them. That wouldn't last, it never did.

Unfortunately, without any other distraction, her anxiety from when she had woken up returned. Her dreams the night before had been troubled, a product of unfamiliar surroundings. She forced some confidence into her steps, focused on her teachings, the sensuality of her heightened senses, the feeling of the earth under her fingers. She had never been afraid of the dark and she certainly wasn't about to start now.

"Kaylee?" she called, and the two voices went quiet for a moment that her nerves drummed up again. The muttering started anew, and she was able to catch something that sounded like _'don't go, stay'_ and _'cant, capn already formed a search party_.' Some fabric rustled, one of the two gave a low groan, and they fell quiet again for a suspicious amount of time. _"M__é__i__ m__é__i_?" she tried again, uncertain.

"Be right out!" her friend finally answered, and Inara had a fairly good idea that she had interrupted something she hadn't wanted to. Regardless, Kaylee skipped out into the hallway with no complaints and her usual sunniness, pulling up one of the straps of her coveralls. "Ain't doin' engine diagnostics on an empty stomach," she announced, tugging at Inara's arm.

A short trip revealing that the tunnels underneath the sandstone domes on the surface were all connected, and they emerged into a large hall under a vaulted ceiling, lit by eyelets carved geometrically into the cupola. This was where all the villagers were, Inara realized, bustling around intricately woven rugs laid across the floor for sitting and a buffet of homemade bread and cereal grains out on what appeared to normally serve as an altar.

With the air of a young companion-in-training preparing for her first lesson in self defense, Kaylee put up her hair in a work style, armed herself with her most cheerful weapon, then joined the fray. Eventually, her smile won her a place next to an ancient looking woman in impressively embroidered robes, the two of them chatting like routine as they gathered up their breakfast. They kept casting speculative glances her direction that made Inara wonder just what they might be discussing. A stuttering young man noticed her and offered her his place by them.

"Gramma Hani says you oughta get something for the captain," the girl suggested, offering a small brick of pressed millet. She was barely audible over the ambient noise, but lowered her voice obligingly when Inara waved her down. "Won't come here himself, and then he can't stay mad."

Oh weeping Buddha, Kaylee had found an ally for her matchmaking efforts. Inara felt herself shake her head, even as she realized what pure optimism had missed. Had he looked thinner, more ragged than usual? Mal didn't do misery half way. "He'll just think that I want something from him," Inara sighed. "That I'm using my wiles on him, whatever _that_ means."

"Means he's just bein' bossy," the mechanic answered, rolling her eyes at the man. "Back for my first few when I got on, used to call him 'Skipper.' He'd yell somethin' fierce about it, then he started calling me _m__é__i m__é__i_. Said it was payback, but we both knew better." She grinned, and shook the protein treat at Inara encouragingly. "Gotta keep at him, but he likes you. I can tell."

Inara smiled kindly and didn't have the heart to argue. From what she had heard, Mal had become more tolerant of Kaylee's shows of affection less than the result of persistence and more because he had reduced her to tears on several occasions.

The quinoa bar thankfully returned to its pile and Kaylee gathered up her armful to head out to the mule, leaving Inara within reach of the table. She began to contemplate her own breakfast, when she realized Kaylee's aged friend was still watching her.

"You must be Inara." A creaking salutation, but warm and not unpleasant. Inara had little time to worry about what conditions her name had been mentioned to the matriarch under as the woman continued. "She's a good child, she means well."

"She's a dear," the companion agreed affectionately, and with something like wistfulness. "If her dreams ever came true, we'd only have to dread the day they ended." Inara picked up one of the bars, lingered for a moment over a second.

When she pulled her hand away still empty, the old woman was looking up at the ceiling, her eyes distant with memory. "My husband was much like your captain. We married in this very temple," she reminisced, and swept her hand across the array of little buildings beyond the sandstone interior. "We assisted in carving out most of the homes in Jordan, saw an entire generation grow up."

They watched the morning activity, the preparations for heading out into the pasture, the murmur of conversation of the chores and wedding gossip from the night before. "My husband just wanted us all safe. He had his share of charities and troubles, he'd lost his family to fighting when he was young, couldn't say no to either after."

Yes, unless something changed, that would be Mal someday, shot down because he was too noble for a thief, too bitter to stop fighting his old battles. She had touched on the thought more than she liked, in times when she was worried he wouldn't come back, when she burned incense and prayed to channel _guān__ yīn_ to his aid.

She wanted to save him from self destruction, so much that it was like resisting the pull of a dying star and tearing into pieces, like wanting to throw herself into the abyss after him. A futile gesture, it would destroy them both, if she wasn't the very instrument to hasten him along to that fate.

"He's still here," Grandmother Hani affirmed - _I know_, Inara almost replied, but for the distraction of a few children nudging their way around her to get at the food on the table. "The life we shared didn't end. It's all around us, in what we built together. He's never really left me."

Then the old woman smiled mistily and apologized for her ramblings, and Inara made her decision. "Not at all, thank you," she answered politely, distractedly. "I should go."

- - - - -  
His right hand might be calm as a summers morning, but watching time waste and the grasslands sway under the warming sun was rapidly damaging his. What was taking so gorramn long? If he found out Inara had waited around while Kaylee gave the doc a special see-you-later, he was going to make them _walk_.

It was Zoë who first spotted anyone, as usual – saved his life more times than he could count that way – and she alerted him with a hard nudge and a nod that betrayed some impatience of her own. He rose from the leather upholstery, and so did his voice, and he wrapped his fists around the mule carriage railing.

"I wanted gone fifteen minutes ago, you two stop to powder your noses... or... Hey." Both of the girls came bearing an impressive bundle of vittles and an unimpressed look for his temper. About then, his body reminded him that he hadnt had much to eat the night before, or even the past few weeks. "Bring anything for me?" he asked, trying to get a better look at the food they were carrying.

His _m__é__i m__é__i_ just scoffed at him, though it was more of a laugh, and stood on tip-toes to push her plunder into the back seat before climbing up after. She tucked in almost immediately, goading and feigning innocence, grinning like a pink Cheshire Cat as she chewed.

He was calculating the distance to lunge at the pile and make off with whatever he could when Zoë cleared her throat. "Sir."

Oh. Right. Elegant as she was, Inara wasn't going to be able to get herself into the mule wearing that dress she'd borrowed, not without putting on a show. He hoped Kaylee remembered to supply their guest some bloomers and swiftly quashed the contrary vote, glancing over the side and down.

Two dark pools under long lashes captured him, looking up at him, guarded, like she'd just been thinking on the same thing. She shifted everything under one arm, raised one dainty hand to fit in his as he helped her up the first step and steadied her as she ascended the rest. Her eyes were on him the entire time.

She stopped when she reached him, on that last ledge, close enough that her shoulder was brushing against his side. He should let her go, drop her hand and step aside so she could take her seat, but he'd forgotten how to move. Her gaze flicked down to his fingers, back up in confusion and curiosity. He felt his first mate and mechanic watching intently.

Mal tried to force some levity. "Whoa there. You have to pay the toll now, and I'm hungry."

Her lips parted to release an annoyed breath, then she smiled back, a bit too sweetly. "I think you've found your true calling. Do we need to find a bridge for you to crawl under and some small children for you to scare?" She pushed him aside, pulling her hand free to thrust his folded up coat and something edible at him as she took her seat. Zoë just shook her head and throttled up to take them out of town.

- - - - -  
She'd just managed to get Kaylee to stop giggling when they came to a stop; the fans propelling the hovermule would no longer be able to muffle their voices from an obnoxious captain who would find their conversation far too interesting. The scenery had changed around them, from wide open grassy plains humming with insects baking as the sun warmed to a sandy wash, carved through the middle of a hanging rock garden.

And no less hot even for the shade and mist dripping from the hardy ferns. Oh, she had a headache. _Climate control_, she encouraged herself faintly. _The shuttles have climate control_. Oddly, there were no shuttles in their immediate proximity, but Mal seemed to be disembarking, and she stood to follow.

He was talking, shrugging on his coat despite the heat, saying something to Zoë about suitable boots, something to Kaylee, defending why they hadn't left the shuttles on the plains. Easy pickings for other scavengers and thieves. Had to hide them, up in the mountains.

Up past... That? That steep rock fall blocking off the rest of the gully? She stared up at it, the path seeming to get longer as she looked, seeming to tunnel against and through and over the cliff walls slick with spring water. He said her name, like from a distance, then again, and she turned her head and moved instinctively towards the sound.

She didn't remember falling, or him catching her.

When consciousness returned she was in a very dark place, the oppressive gloom weighing down on her like a leaden blanket, deadening her senses and smothering her. She felt paralyzed, terrified, wanted to scream but she couldn't.

Kaylees voice broke through the waking nightmare, shaken and worried. "Is she gonna be all right?"

The relief that blossomed through her broke the spell, and she gasped, and felt a pair of warm hands around hers, helping her to sit up, as they had helped her into the carriage of the mule. She gulped down air, trying to calm herself and her racing heart beat. "I'm all right," she murmured automatically, vaguely aware she was repeating herself over and over. "I'm fine."

"What happened?" His voice, no nonsense.

"Ah-" She cast her thoughts back, to the dizziness she felt before. No, please no. Anything but that. She quickly thought up another explanation. "Just the heat," she supplied, shrugging one shoulder and feigning embarrassment. She could see them better now, Kaylee beaming at her, all fears immediately assuaged.

Mal was smiling as well, though thinly and not nearly so trusting. "Well, there's a trifle. Kaylee, go an' finish up your diagnostic. I got this handled."

Like a dash of sunshine, the mechanic scampered off to her duties. _"Sh__í__ a!__ Ch__à__ng rĕ_, captain!" she chirped.

As Kaylee disappeared through the hatch nearby into a mass of fluttering green leaves, Inara finally had enough light to recognize the insides of one of _Serenity'_s shuttles. More specifically, this was _her_ old shuttle, now empty but for a bowl of incense and a familiar tattered old army blanket beside it.

Mal stood also, and began rummaging around in the refresher station. He emerged with a glass of water for her, and sat down across from her, watching her with something like an accusation.

"Speaking of handling, please tell me you didn't carry me here," she responded in kind, her voice and expression flat.

Another not-smile. "Almost fractured my other shoulder. This going to be some kind of habit? Falling on me?"

"You wish," she purred, taunting, then took a sip of her drink. Actually, she was a little thirsty. That was nice of him. She didn't want him to be nice. She didn't want him hurting himself because of her. "I was perfectly capable of walking here on my own, so next time, I'd appreciate a little less presumption. Also if you wouldn't parade me around naked in front of total strangers..."

He shifted and glared, all pretenses at playfulness gone. "What was I s'posed to do?" he argued. "You show up outta nowhere-"

"You _could_ keep your hands to yourself-"

"You were unconscious-"

"Oh, great excuse-"

"You needed _help-"_

"No, Mal," she snapped back. "You needed! You needed to feel like a hero, and you needed to be in control!" She felt her eyes start to sting, and pushed back the tears furiously. "But you don't get to leave me behind, and then act like you care-"

"Act!" he was pure outrage now. "Let's talk about acting!"

"-Like you have any sort of privilege!" she finished.

The dust settled between them. Mal went quiet, his gaze falling to the floor, away from her.

After a long silence, he spoke again, low. "Three weeks ago," he explained, "I got a wave from Ariel, some core world medical institute. Canned response form someone filled out on their lunchbreak." He slowly forced himself to meet her eyes. "They said you were dead."

Then he looked away again, so impossibly _zhĕn__ lĕng qīn h__á__n_ stoic. She reached for his hand for the second time in only a few hours, but he was rolling to his feet to switch on the cortex terminal, the same she had used so many times to distract herself from him.

Her _personal _cortex access and accounts. She should be angry about that, but in the face of his admission, her will to fight with him had dissolved. And there was something wrong about the notification, something beyond the apparent, so she stood as well, wanting to see for herself.

They didn't get past the log-in. _"Ni tā mā de_," Mal swore, and she paled as he turned and marched out of the shuttle, his coat swishing behind him. "Kaylee! We gotta go, _mă__ sh__à__ng_!"


	11. Chapter 10

EDIT: Okay, I think I've got it now. I feel much better about how this chapter reads. Sorry about the mess earlier. Work in progress. Next chapter is going to be fun and action heavy!

EDIT #2: Oh, I forgot to say, I have to admit that the Ratched here is heavily inspired by the prison ship in Screw The Alliance's Unfinished Business (itself regrettably unfinished, but still a very good read). Hopefully, though, I've presented some new ideas here, and it won't seem like a complete rip-off.

Aliasse and Platonist looked over parts of this, so thanks.

* * *

Chapter 10

The first breath of air was the worst, like coming to life only to drown again, choking on water still in the lungs. The amniotic seal popped and the last of the fluid drained away.

"Lucy? Are you all right?" She fell forward bonelessly out of the cell and caught herself on the curved barrier, still sputtering and bedraggled. Cho was hovering over her, his almond eyes wide under black a black fringe of bangs.

She smiled up at him. "Better than," she answered, and started wringing out coils of copper hair, dripping a puddle at her feet onto the brightly lit pristine white floor. "Except for the last part, that was actually somewhat relaxing."

He shook his head, the perfect image of amused skepticism. "_Pì huà_."

"No really," she insisted, reaching for her white coat and shoving her hands through the sleeves. "Like sensory deprivation therapy or something." The hiss of hydraulics as a security door slid open and shut drew her attention back to the floor level, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Speaking of which, here come The Machines."

Cho leaned out, frowning in dislike down at the two blonde men. "Think I'll take my chances in there."

"Wha-" she spun back, but he was already making his escape. "You can't just leave me to deal with them! They're creepy!" she objected. Creepy nothing. They were cold, calculating, expressionless, and their arrival aboard the I.A.V. _Ratched_ had generally made everyone uneasy, even the captain. Identical black suits… And why did they have to wear gloves all the time, anyway?

He smirked and climbed into the capsule. "Bet I can last longer than you did." He crossed his arms, daring her.

She narrowed blue eyes, then slapped the controls. He grinned, membrane closing again around the opening and backlights flicking on as the fluid began bubbling around his ankles. "You still have to check out that virtual reality simulator I downloaded from the cortex," she grumbled. He couldn't hear her anyway, just waved, as the breathable liquid slowly lifted his feet from the floor and rose up over his head.

"Doctor Alair. This section of the containment area is restricted."

Agent Smith and Jones. She turned towards them sharply. "There's something wrong with this pod," she informed them, pointing over her shoulder. "I'd like to have maintenance check it over."

The two men looked at each other. "Glitch?" asked one. Agent Jones, perhaps, not that it mattered.

"I'll ask headquarters," replied his counterpart. "Sialia's been slipping."

A beeping noise interrupted them, and she checked her handheld. Bluebirds sing. Neurons spark. The two agents receded into insignificance. "Excuse me," she brushed by them, "another shipment of the new test drugs has arrived."

Dr. Alair floated by the pods lining the walkway, several levels of them stacked on top of each other, most occupied by inmates deemed too dangerous for social integration, sentenced to permanent hibernation. She didn't look at any of them, as though unaware of them. Lucy studied each of their faces, curious and piteous, wondering if they could dream.

- - - - -  
"Landlock." Zoë was matter of fact as ever in defiance of the gravity of the situation.

Jayne took a lean against the mule. Plenty of worry gathered around the captain and first mate for the chatter, and none of it worth listening to. What they were was stuck and more stuck and spinning their wheels was going to get them nowhere fast, seeing how their ride didn't have any.

Heat around them was the kind sapped at a man until his only option was to find some shade and lay down. Even the grass was all nodding and flies were buzzing lazy-like. Only advantage here was the Doc looking all mouse-eyed and even that was losing its appeal. "But… How did they find us?" the kid asked. Jayne didn't like the wary glance sent his way.

"They didn't," the captain cut in flatly, like a breeze stirred then died. The man had been haunting around Inara like a damn schoolboy to help her down from her seat, only she was having none of that.

Well, so long as that was settled, but for good measure, Jayne gave the boy a sneer. Uppity _xiăo guī tóu_ frowned back, then Mal caught the doctor's eye, nodded towards the curly haired distraction – _see to her_.

"Called an Antlion," Zoë explained. "Back when the Alliance first tried to declare the Rim and Border colonies, they offered charitable aid to sweeten the deal. Only thing is, they wanted us to pay for it – in resources, land, labour, and taxes." They were starting to head underground now, which suited him just fine. Didn't go too far, though, and he claimed some wall for himself just away from the direct heat, spitting distance from outside. "No one wanted the supplies, Alliance wouldn't take 'em back, so the three main Independent worlds had themselves a great big bonfire. This was how they retaliated. Martial law, governors, and this."

He didn't see what this had to do with them being stuck, and snorted. "Don't sound scary."

River started jabbering. "Worm execution. Can't fly away. Catches you in its teeth and drags you – "

"Still don't sound scary," Jayne snapped. She ignored him and trailed after the petticoat and her brother down the tunnels.

"But that shuts down everything, don't it?" Kaylee wondered. Oh _hell_. He didn't mind so much the _zháo mo_ mechanic talk, what with all he heard from his pa's factory work and all. She was one of the few people he'd ever met didn't generally annoy him that he hadn't paid first. Last gorramn thing he wanted to hear was her awing and jawing over Mal's latest luck-gone-wrong.

"Everything ain't purple," the former dust devil concurred. "Nav systems, local cortex, infects a node and just spreads. Took out most of our air support whenever we got hit, forced us to use radio."

Wasn't any looks, not even any of that silent talking between the two browncoats. Nope. Something they weren't telling him. "That all?"

Now something tense, the soldier asking for a go ahead. "Only ever been used planet-wide once," Zoë added reluctantly. "Just around the start of the war, before they were trying bombardment."

He took a moment to think that over. Nothing. "So?" They all stared back at him, blank, the Kaylee smiled at him like some poor stray wasn't housebroken, and Zoë's chin kind of lifted like he'd just told her he'd found a landmine. Mal just started to walk away, done with him. He was getting _tired_ of all the attitude he got, everyone always looking down on him. Why didn't he get out yesterday, or even weeks ago, while he still could? "What's the plan, anyhow? Stay here 'til they find us?"

The captain stopped and tried to stare him down. "No," Mal said. "We stay, there's a good chance _Serenity_ gets impounded. And by staying, we put these folks at risk. I won't see them punished for their kindness." They all thought on another safe haven for a moment, then he continued walking away, _líng zi_ coat doing that swishy thing. "Get packing."

- - - - -  
The single eyelet in the makeshift guest room and clinic hadn't allowed enough light for an examination, but even with the oil lamp Inara thought everything was still very dark. River had curled up beside her, grim and silent, while Simon balanced her hands on top of his, resisting while she pressed down.

Dear Simon. He was exactly her client type – kind, sensitive, thoughtful, undemanding, smart, witty, not annoying… If she ever had the option, she might have married a man like him, who she could share the burden of her secret with, who would help her face what was coming, who could be strong for her. Someone who would be her good friend and associate, who she would care for long after their engagement. Someone who wouldn't abandon her to die alone, like her father had left her mother. But it was different now. She could only imagine one man anymore, and she hated that her heart had so foolishly and selfishly decided on someone who was already so broken.

"You seem to be all right for now," the doctor finally pronounced, and pulled up the bedside ottoman. "No tremors. But without running a scan, I can't tell for certain how far you've progressed, or how fast."

She knew what that meant. The companion had taken a nursing course during training in case a client ever suffered a heart attack or stroke during an engagement, and so she knew a very little about medicine. They needed a neuroimager. Core technology.

Simon squeezed her hands sympathetically, full of apology. "Kaylee tells me the infirmary is a mess, but very little was actually broken in the crash. I do still have some of your medicine stored aboard _Serenity_, if it comes to that." He shrugged, then smiled. "And if you ever want to play dead, which comes up more than you might expect out here, it's very useful when combined with byphodine."

She frowned. "You didn't hit another hospital while I was away, did you?" She missed everything the last time, for which she was grateful, as the heist was almost a complete disaster.

"Not yet," Simon answered, struggling himself with the ethics of betraying an institution dedicated to helping the sick and injured. He had told her before that the job had been worth it for his sister, and the hospital resupplied before anyone even noticed, but he hoped that they would never try that again. "But then, you never can tell what insanity the captain might get mixed up in next."

"They're called plans," Mal objected, pushing aside the curtain. "Never do seem to stay that way, though." He was watching her, and seemed to find her exasperated eyeroll at his intrusion some reassurance that she was indeed feeling better. Then he looked at their hands, still joined, and something bitter flashed across his features before he could hide it again. "Well. If the two of you wanted alone time, could've just asked."

Simon dropped her hand and shifted, genuinely uncomfortable. He made to excuse himself. "I'll just…"

"Belay that," Mal interrupted, ignoring Inara's glare and taking up his hands-on-gunbelt captain's announcement stance. "Got more for you to hear. Seems an Alliance cruiser has gone and parked itself in orbit. Prison ship, former POW camp called the _Ratched_, or 'the Wretched' by those with more'n a passing familiarity. I'd say you just call it 'Bad News.'" He gave them a hard look. "You three are staying here while we reconnoiter, as long as it takes. Can't risk you and your sister, doc, and I still don't know if anyone's on the lookout for you, ambassador. So you're going to get plenty of time to spend together."

He pushed aside the drapery with some violence, leaving her to follow him. Well, she certainly wasn't feeling dizzy anymore. She caught up without any mishaps; Mal had been stopped by Zoë, who looked only slightly less defiant than she had once, on Haven. "Sir. Ain't her fault we're in this mess."

A pause. "No," he agreed, and Inara remembered his sadness and bitterness around the dinner table, almost a month ago.

"It was Niska," the darker soldier continued, but her eyes were like sparking flint, fixed on him with barely restrained accusation. "Just like it was the Alliance killed my husband. What they do, on that ship up there, makes me want to go in and torch that city to the ground as a mercy." And then the unthinkable: Zoë hesitated. "But them and Kaylee," she gestured towards the room behind him, "they ain't seen war. Not like us."

Mal crossed his arms, mirroring her defiance. "We're flying blinder than usual here, Zoë. We've got to see what's coming at us."

The widow looked away, struggling with her grief, but far from finished. "He was right," Zoë said finally. "All this violence, it's only gotten us one thing. I wanted to leave today. Too peaceful, I thought. Have to get busy dying again. Like a damn fool."

His voice was harsh, impatient. "Stay then. I don't have time for this."

The moment that passed almost seemed to reel from the shock, but Zoë merely stood taller, hardening into stone. "Is that an order? _Sir_?" Her voice was like ice.

Almost ten years, counting on his second in command to back him up, and now this. Inara felt her heart pound in her throat. "Mal." He was still staring his first mate down. "I want to go with you." _Let me be your anchor._

He finally acknowledged her offer, sighed and shook his head. River was just visible past the veil, watching them. "See what I mean about the plans?" he asked her.

"_Yúbèn gŏudàn de pì yăn_," the teenager grumbled back moodily.

"Mal, I know someone who can tell us what's happening," Inara explained patiently. "I have money, I have contacts, I even have an insurance policy I took out on _Serenity_, and I can talk to the Alliance to get us out of here."

His gaze burned into her, sizing her up. "Whole lotta good that does when you've been reported dead." He left her standing in the hallway without another word, but she exchanged a look with Zoë and she realized, belatedly, that he hadn't said no.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

At around eight in the evening, the yellow sun was low enough in the sky such that travel wasn't sure heat-stroke. Also made the garden before them look like some kind of Eden; expensive _fèng huáng_ genmod birds set loose amid cinnamon, roses, and local citrus in bloom. Pathways lined with mistsprayers, winding around fountains and other impractical desert water works. Everything neat and orderly despite frenzied workers bringing in tables and hanging lanterns.

And between them and fortune, a gate covered in enough precious to make the greediest devil jealous, solid gold humming with enough electricity to send any thieves right to their waiting jaws.

"Okay then," Captain Reynolds clapped his hands, rousing his two crew members from their splendor induced trances. "Let's break it." His mechanic made a Kaylee noise and happily scurried over to the crumbly sandstone wall to listen for wires, eager to play with a new toy. Jayne moved to help. Compared to the riches in front of them, his crew looked raggamuffin, out of place. He felt a sort of pride at the thought.

"Mal!" Shock, dismay, then indignance from Inara. It was worth it, the teasing, to see her all flustered and huffy, one hand planted on her hip and her spirited dark eyes flashing at him. She'd put her curls up in some kind of twist as a defense against the wind, a few strands had escaped anyway. "This is completely unnecessary. The councilor is a client of mine and a friend. Could you act like a civilized human being for once?"

No matter how many times she reminded him, it still stung. He blamed the borrowed dress, the dark wisps drifting around to the emphasis of her long neck. Made it too easy to imagine a different life, that she might belong out here. "I am being civil!" he argued, kept the hurt out of it. Mostly. "This is just a little honest burglary to get us in." He stabbed a thumb over at the gate. "Unnecessary would be stealin' that bit of shiny off its hinges."

Then again, the posts weren't set too deep. If he hooked up the mule...

Ow! She pinched him! He glared at the miffy woman. "Not while it's electrified, please. Or ever." Inara's voice dipped low with distaste, and she met his scowl with an unimpressed expression.

Kaylee hesitated, looking between them, then gave a nervous smile. "No can do, Cap'n. Got a line runnin' from here," she pointed to the ground, traced some pattern, "to here, and more lines over there. Buncha circuits with their own return, and probably a SWER with backup generators." Couldn't even begin to process that, and she hastened to explain. "Means we snip one, still got others to supply power."

"So we take them out too," he told her, shrugging, _what's the problem_?

Inara scoffed gracefully. Somehow. "_Or_-" she corrected haughtily, striding over to the panel by the gate. "I could ask the head housekeeper to buzz us in."

His mercenary frowned, a keen and skeptical glint to his narrowed eyes that belied the usual dull confusion on his face. "Where's the money in that?"

The look she shot their brute was even more disapproving and annoyed, which Mal took some satisfaction from. Whatever he might be, at least he wasn't as bad as Jayne. She stepped up, pressed the intercom, and they waited.

Sure was taking a while. Kaylee had plunked down cross legged and was playing with her tawny hair, combing out the tangles with her little fingers, and Inara saw fit to help. The big man watched the girls, reached out his paws like he was tempted to join in; the captain put a stop to that with a hard look, half warning and half disbelief. Finally a section of the wall opened up to reveal a vidscreen. Grit crumbled from the sandstone shutters as they slid aside, almost like they'd been charmed by their ambassador.

And in turn, the companion was warmly greeted, and the housekeeper or whoever was glad to tell her that the councilor and maybe-would-be governor was busy preparing a welcome party for the Alliance officials. Inara quickly identified herself, to which she was kindly informed that the councilor had ended subscription for their engagements, and that her services were no longer necessary.

It was a few seconds after the feed cut out. Jayne was getting angry, muttering curses and insults at the wall the screen had disappeared behind again, where Inara was still staring, her smile slapped from her face, crashed and burned somewhere in the dust around her dainty feet. She hadn't moved, not even when Kaylee started a diatribe that turned into comforting chatter, tugging at the hem of the dress from her seat on the ground.

He hated them, her clients. To them, she was no more than a service, a pretty thing with two long legs they bought and owned for a night as a slave to their wants and comforts. And this was how they treated her, or worse. They'd take everything from her and give nothing back. Mal felt his teeth grind together, his hands clench.

* * *

She was a little stunned at first, something which she imagined the captain would, at any moment, make some cruel joke about. But, no. This wasn't about his antiquated ideas. When a client decided to stop seeing their companion, it was cause for celebration, a graduation to their next phase in life. The rejection was unexpected, yes, but if she had helped Judice return to her husband and son with their engagement, then she should be glad.

Her surprise was inappropriate. She should have discovered the councilor's marital status during the screening process. Then there would have been no infidelity, the Guild would simply have refunded any subscription fee. Instead, she had broken guild law, imposed on a client's home, and had almost shamed the councilor. Worse, she had begged for help, had asked the councilor to risk life and family and go up against Adelai Niska. No wonder that her reception would be so cold. And yet, she was upset, and disappointed, and wanted very much to call again and demand to be allowed in.

So acute was her distress, she didn't hear the mule, only the impact it made when it crashed through the wall.

The cloud was already dissipating, the powder settling on his coat, and as he stood, half out of the chassis when he saw her and stopped, she couldn't bring herself to feel angry. She wasn't quite sure what she felt, what her eyes were telling him; some mix of relief that he hadn't broken his neck, and weary acceptance for his exasperating brand of problem solving, and maybe a hint of gratitude, for his misguided attempts at gallantry. He nodded to her as she looked up at him at the start of the rubble, then glanced past her towards his crew, slower and more uncertain in their approach, and tipped his brown head towards the gathering crowd. Jayne quickened his pace, waving Kaylee back.

Some of the workers stepped aside to permit the Councilor, dressed in shimmering purple silk cinched tight at the waist, a matching shawl wrapped around her wrists, her blonde hair styled high on her head. "_What_ is going _on_ here?" She sounded impatient and annoyed, and made Mal's hand drop down to the pistol at his side, still just concealed.

Inara climbed onto the debris and pushed her way past him, in the little gap between the hovercraft and the rock. "Let me talk," she whispered to him, not quite pleading. He was still angry, and while she knew he didn't hit women, not unless they were armed (a concession against his nature that she was certain the war had forced into him), his mouth could do just as much damage. He thankfully complied and hung back, still looming over her protectively and ready to draw.

She stepped down into the circle and held herself with as much self-respect as she could manage, considering the circumstances. Councilor Judice Larrol frowned as she recognized her, then sighed. "I see." She addressed the foreman, a sun-baked, scrawny, frenzied local man holding a clip board. "I'll handle this. Get them unloading the other shipment." The man started shouting, dispersing the crowd.

"I'm sorry, councilor, to intrude like this," Inara apologized, feeling her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "You remember Captain Malcolm Reynolds?"

She narrowed his eyes at him. "Of course," she replied, clearly less than delighted to find him standing amid her damaged property. Her tone suggested that she also found this entirely consistent with her impression of him, and that his presence explained everything. "Is this a show of appreciation for the medical equipment I loaned you?"

Inara's blush deepened, and she stiffened her spine, resisting the impulse to rub at her arms self-consciously. "I'm afraid the captain can be somewhat overzealous on my behalf." She tried not to think of why they'd needed the dermal mender, what Niska, that sadistic _yāoxié_, had done to Mal the last time they'd been on Ezra. "I'll pay. Bill my guild accounts for any expenses, I'll cover everything," she promised.

"Not the only overzealous one," Councilor Larrol commented, renewing a line of speculation they had discussed before. Her focus intensified. "Since you're here, I can only assume you're trying to get through the Alliance barricade. Where is your ship? Docked in New Jerusalem?" Inara nodded, relieved to be off the subject of her relationship with the captain. The imperious blonde turned on him. "I am preparing for a soirée tomorrow evening. I expect you here at nine a.m. tomorrow morning. You will take an order slip to the local quarry, then you will come back here and fix my fence."

This was why Judice was the Governor aspirant.

The demand caught Mal off guard, and for a precious few moments he gaped at her, silent and dumbfounded. "Now, wait a minute," he started, the anger creeping back into his voice.

"In return," the councilor continued, louder, "I will get clearance for your shuttles to land here and then return to your ship. So long as you have my authorization, you will not be subject to inspection." He quieted again, working through the plan, how to best take advantage of the offer. She was studying him. "The Alliance is looking for you, captain. They believe you're the cause of this unrest and that you're fomenting a rebellion."

"Ridiculous," Inara objected, "_Serenity_ crashed, and he was injured. He's barely been able to move for three weeks."

The councilor was unmoved by the argument. "Be that as it may, you did kill Niska, correct?" He didn't answer, but the line of his mouth thinned in confirmation. "Indirectly, they're not wrong. Niska's men are fighting among themselves, and there are many who would like to see them all dead, who hail you as a hero."

He leaned back, returning her scrutiny over crossed arms. "If that's how you feel, why help? Why not call the _Ratched_ right now, turn us all in?"

Judice sighed. "Because you killed that bastard," she answered, dismissing them so that she could return to oversee the preparation activities.

They watched her give off another flurry of orders as she left them, and Jayne whistled, admiring the plunging line of her open-backed gown. "Hey, can she be our new captain?"

"Ooh," Kaylee seconded, also smitten with the councilor's dress, but for more wholesome reasons. The little tomboy considered her current commander then their other prospect thoughtfully, then gave a nod. "Yep, she's prettier."

"Your old captain is still alive," Inara pointed out, amused by their antics. Out of everything else, Mal looked most offended at 'old.'

The mercenary seemed to be liking this idea altogether too much, but Kaylee grinned reassuringly, an entirely different option in mind. "Ain't a problem, he can still be cabin boy."

"Well, let's hold off on the mutiny for a while," the captain suggested, strangely at ease with their impending treachery. He vaulted himself back into the mule. "Still need to find our way into New Jerusalem. Those shuttles return to _Serenity_ and port control thinks no one's home, we're gonna get company real fast."

"You gotta plan?" Jayne asked, dubiously.

He nodded, worrisomely confident. "You drive."

* * *

One thing he had learned in his long career resisting and ducking the encroach of the Alliance, the moment any authority started telling people to do this or that, folks could always be counted on to find a way to disobey. Commanding a handful of soldiers, someone always bit into the gorramn apples. On his boat apparently his no fraternizing rule was blown to hell. And as for finding himself with a cruiser overhead and a blockade around the city with the docks yonder side, all he had to do was drive around the walls to the worst part of town, and trust in the ingenuity of the criminal mind to provide a way. And they had a variety of grenades to add in the explosion parts. They couldn't go wrong.

_She _broke into his musings. "This is the worst idea you've ever had, Mal."

Now, that was harsh, and uncalled for. Well, of course she would complain. She never appreciated his keen strategems. "You don't even know all the ideas I ever had." He shrugged, though probably she couldn't tell. "'sides, it's worked before."

Inara shook her head at him, like the lesser creature he was. Maybe she had forgotten her training, her companion graces and how to soothe egos with pretty talk. Not that he could afford any of it in the first place. "I'm afraid to ask how often you've done this. Twice is enough, really."

Jayne snorted a laugh. "One of them times a fellah was gonna bed 'im." Had a broad and unsavoury smile, recalling that misadventure.

This was the one downside to the veil. Wearing a glorified blanket seemed to make his crew forget that he was still impressive and commanding underneath it. He tried to ignore how Kaylee was squirming with man-to-man imagining delight. "Maybe next time I should get pretend-hitched to the doc. Not a big fan of chin whiskers." There. That put a end to it. "You see anything?"

They returned to their stake-out, and after some time passed, the air stirred a little, sending the desert night's chill through them. Their tracker's head jerked up in surprise, then he pointed. There it was, a passage concealed by hologram, stones shimmering around the edges, windblown sand interfering with the display. Only one thing left to do: barge in.

He probably should have expected it. Cramped alley between a couple of adobe huts, four guards armed to the teeth, many of them wearing multiple bandoleers, and the poor wretches off to the side, dressed in rags and bound together with chains, the empty look of abject misery and filth all over them. The slavers were staring at them, surprised by their sudden appearance, their guns were coming up, and Kaylee was starting to make frightened noises, the kind he'd hoped to never hear from her again.

Drive, Jayne. Drive. Go now. Go already, you _bái mù chuíxián de jiunáng fàndài_...

The mercenary stood up, gave a look around. "So... Yeah," he rumbled. "Got a few more for ya. Where'dya want 'em?"

_Cào ni zuzōng shíbā dài._ Jayne was climbing down from the mule, and the gunmen were coming closer to get a better look, still wary. Now they had to see this farce through. He glanced at Inara, she had already discreetly palmed a couple of flashbangs even as she was trying, quietly, to keep Kaylee calm. He tore his eyes away again, not wanting them to catch on, but damned if the look they'd held in those spare seconds hadn't cut right through him.

One of the guards pulled him down for a better look, a lean dirty blond spacer gone local, apparently suspicious. They were leaving the girls alone. Good. Keep the attention away from them, he could do that. Got right up in his face, smell thick with sweat and blood and the unnameable. None of his people had showered for near a month either, sure, but the man had breath that could gag the dead. Spirits alone said the man ought to be fallen over. Looked him up and down, and across the shoulders, and sneered, showing blackened teeth. "I think may be this is the worst looking _burqa_ I have ever seen."

Three more of them, locals by their looks, had climbed into the mule. Young, maybe former slaves themselves, graduated into the ranks of their keepers after having known nothing else in their lives. The closest one looked overly nonchalant. "That would be because he is a man," he told the slaver. "Doesn't matter, yeah? If he's pretty someone will want him, and if not, we can sell him for the labor. We'll take them around front."

The slaver just frowned at the boy. "_El khara dah_? And who are you, you _ibn himar_?"

Mal couldn't quite process what happened next. All three of the kids froze, then one of them started yelling, "_Jalla, jalla_!" and the mule sped away recklessly, clipping a few buildings and merchant stands as it went. With Inara and Kaylee still in the backseat, holding on desperately.

He stared after them, pulling open the long gash he'd cut in the cloth to see through and pushing back his makeshift hood. "Did they just steal my mule?"

Jayne was backing towards him. "Uh, Mal?"

They did. "They just stole my mule!" He waved at the trail of destruction they'd left. "My gorramn mule, and now they're gonna wreck it!"

The whining charge of a few automated and sonic rifles told him he had much bigger problems.


	13. Chapter 12

I saw a video once of a guy being tasered. Jumped right to his feet, yelling and generally going berserk, and decked the other guy. Kinda like that. I suspect it doesn't happen very often.

I guess I'm going to split this action stuff into two parts. It takes me a little longer to write, and I wanted to have something to post. I've also thrown an idea I had in here. People will probably hate it, but hey, in November I'll be Jossed and can retroactively snip it out of here.

Again, thanks to Aliasse and Platonist, and I might have discussed some of this with Riona Eire, too.

* * *

Chapter 12

_For those who would serve the Alliance, peace and stability are the foundations of order, just as vital as food, air, water, shelter and medical care. One cannot endure without the other. An absence of order is a disturbance, and interferes with the basic necessities of life._

_Order obligates control, and so were created the parliament, the judiciary, the military, the very Alliance itself. The Alliance exists in the service of all citizens of the 'verse, and by extension, all humankind. _

_To do the greatest amount of good for the greatest amount of people, it is therefore essential to maintain this order at any cost, to protect the security and safety of the interests of the government. For services rendered in return, all citizens ultimately owe their loyalty to the Alliance. Their loyalty must be tested, and become stronger by the testing, never weaker, never broken, lest they become a danger to those they serve. _

_There will always be another test, and failure means death. Those who would betray the Alliance had rejected life, and must be made to reflect this._

He could recite it effortlessly. They all could.

This was what it was to be an Operative, one of the men and women who gave their lives and very identities for the Alliance. To exist outside the rule of law, the last line of defense between order and chaos, with only the command of parliament to save them from falling to the other side.

Was it what the young prospective was thinking as he stepped down the stairs into the circle of moonlight? As they watched each other, from across the flat expanse that would become their arena, salted by blood? Was he thinking about how he had failed his mission, the man he'd been sent to kill to prove his allegiance dead by another's hand? Was he wondering why the man who was his real test had the same face, the same skin, the same voice?

It was silent. Not even the parting of air marked the curve of their blades, a shadow dance, each already gone when the deadly steel passed through where they had been. They had the same moves, the same knowledge. A pattern of neurons nurtured the same way, grown and not trained.

All but for one very important memory.

Pain flared in his side, just above his hip. His younger self didn't even smile in triumph at drawing first blood as he pressed the advantage, the katana sinking deeper into his abdomen. This was only how it was supposed to go, only what was inevitable.

The headbutt had surprised him, he remembered, even though the first man to use the move against him was unskilled, more of a tavern brawler and also the only person to ever best an Operative. This time, it broke his nose, and as he doubled over, the follow up punch to the chest broke his sternum.

He pulled the sword out in one smooth motion, to accompany the upward thrown elbow that this time shattered his jaw and sent him sprawling. A few seconds, the last time, had almost lost the fight for the other man, but an Operative was fluid, with no wasted time or motion. He brought his other hand up to the hilt, and stabbed downwards.

- - - - -  
"Reynolds," the slaver grinned, blowing rotten, vodka-pickled breath through bad teeth while the three flunkies hung back hesitantly.

Two torches sputtered. Not for the captain anyway - his shine was long gone - and not Jayne, because there were matchsticks that were brighter. But them, the girls, chased by the night or radiant from it.

Without light, all things returned to the darkness, that dead nothing place the poets eloquated about after the bombs dropped and the world was void. "That's me," Mal answered. He'd seen it, knew it, _was_ it, had let too much of it in. And to hell with that. He wasn't about to let the darkness take Kaylee and Inara, too. Not after what he'd gone through already, not after he thought he'd lost them.

"You wear the name proudly," the man appraised, stepping back to clear the line of fire. Something foreign and pretentious and befitting the bleached hair slipped into his local accent. "You shouldn't."

Jayne lowered his head and his voice, throwing a look around the alley and sizing up the four rifles arrayed against them. "So... Now what?"

Couldn't decide if that was snark or a genuine request. There was an odd note of calm surety and complete trust in the question, as though the other man was depending on him for a plan to get them away alive. He preferred the former take, too many ghosts of soldiers in the other. "Workin' on it," the captain muttered distractedly, hands raised nonchalantly, still cloaked from boots to neck.

"You come here, you kill, you steal, and they call you hero." The slaver's wolfish smile had fallen away, thankfully, for something openly hostile. "Come here and mess up my home. How many dead, Reynolds? How many because of you?"

"Why?" the former sergeant growled. "You writin' a bio? Or are these a rare breed of immortals you're running?"

_Serenity_'s mercenary just looked confused, but the slaver erupted, getting more of a whiff of the insult than a taste. "I'm the _law_ on this world, or was until you brought that goat-humping fleet down on us!"

The sonic rifles. _Gou shi_. The Alliance only started using them after the war, switching over to non-lethal tech to keep folks in line. These were standard issue, even.

Gorramn. Fed.

Not the first time he'd faced one, Mal reminded himself. Not the first time his crew had been held at gun point, and against worse odds. Six men came for revenge one time, Jayne had boasted, and now the whole damn 'verse had it in for the rest of them. Just had to keep their heads and make an opportunity. Make them angry, agitate a mistake. Fact that they weren't dead already was a positive.

Then the bastard gave an order and they were raising the kayos, and Mal changed his mind. Given the choice, he would've preferred a bullet. Non-lethal tech still hit like a sledge hammer and felt like a concussion.

The wave knocked him off his feet, almost into the line of ragged slaves cowering to the side, who scattered and parted as best they could shackled together. Into the stone wall of the narrow alley, and he staggered against it, propped himself up on unsteady legs.

Jayne also dropped hard, but bounced back up, neck bulging, roaring like an angry bull and charging the dumb kid who'd hit him. This time, the boss brought _his_ gun up.

The captain was cursing himself, overridding his leaden arms with pure adrenalin, thinking the lummox had got himself killed, thinking he was about to lose another one. His hand fell on an empty ankle chain hanging from the links strung between the workers. The cold metal lashed out, slithering through the air, catching the flickering torchfire before biting into the slaver's jaw with a painful _crack_.

Jayne's flattened guard gurgled around the boot that had him pinned down by the throat. A better man might've had pity for boys weren't soldiers.

The alley held its breath to watch, but the slaver boss wasn't getting up after that, not if Mal had has druthers. He moved, leveraged himself away from the wall as the world spun, shunting away the pain that stabbed between his eyes as he scooped up the Fed's loose rifle. Before they knew it, it was two guns on two guns instead of just a _shǎguā_ in a dress and a _yī duī ròu_ without enough brains for a sonic hit to jostle.

Then the crowd surged forward to have their say in the standoff, emboldened by the prospect of freedom. _Click click clickety click._ The unwary guard frantically squeezed the trigger as they grabbed him, his empty chamber recycling uselessly. Probably the last insult in the boy's short life, the ultimate betrayal from an employer who didn't trust him with a loaded gun, lest their blond boss end up fragged or their merchandise get damaged. All for show, to keep their victims in line. The boy struggled, dropping his weapon to claw at the chain around his neck.

The last guard, after a moment of reflection, shot a kayo at his friend to spare him, then raised his hands. But too late, the mercenary returned fire, and the low hum of the other sonic rifle hit him and knocked the final boy cold.

Mal waved at the few empty chains in the slave lines. "Truss 'em up," he ordered.

Jayne grinned unpleasantly, hauled the kid he had been standing on up. "No, no, wait!" the kid choked out, begging. "He said... He'll kill our families-!"

"Niska's dead," Mal asserted, only vaguely aware of the objection, cut short by the dull thump. He was having himself a staring match with the dots peppering his eyesight, but just past them, he saw the slaves truly for the first time, their eyes wide as they cowered back. All of them marked for trade, the women and children marked different than most of the men. The flare of anger he felt this time was for them.

He remembered the unconscious slaver laying at his feet, and raised the assault rifle. "And fair soon this piece a space trash won't be able to touch 'em, either."

A trio of quick bursts emptied into the slaver boss. Looked a little like one of Inara's clients, actually, the one from Alliance special ops that sucker-punched him, took him into custody, and tried to beat a confession of terrorism out of him for a couple hours. Probably the goddawful hair. For certain the slaver was uglier. Kind of face a couple bullet holes could only improve, really. Just one more life snuffed out by his hand.

Something shifted by his ankle, and he found Jayne searching the body already. _"Couldn't even let the body cool a little_?" he thought, annoyed. He'd seen dead men blown near in half, who'd come back alive when someone went for their rations.

Then the mercenary handed him a key chain, shrugging uncomfortably. "What? You were gonna ask for 'em anyway, weren'tcha?"

The darkness lifted a little. Every now and then, Mal was glad Jayne Cobb was on his crew. He nodded, something like thanks. "Right."

The big man grunted, looking like the kayo was catching up to him. "Found his wallet, too." The mercenary bent back over, not sick enough to stop looting.

Kind of wished there weren't two of him at the moment. The last gorramn thing Mal wanted to see doubled was Jayne's ass.

"Right," he repeated, more to himself, and tossed the keys to the slaves, to one who had a mistrustful, determined expression. He put his captain voice on. "Gonna be someone come lookin' any time now, and it's best they find this place empty. Any of you know a safe house in the city, you get those irons off and you head there straightaway, soon as you're clear."

A thought occurred to him, and he frowned. Why were they even out here, in this back alley with only four guns on them, and not somewhere more secure?

"Hey, listen," Jayne said, head cocked to the side like a dog. "You hear that?"

The sound of distant overland transports, with another delivery or maybe a pickup. Just the thing if someone wanted to cram in lots of people and didn't care much about comfort, and on the outer planets, a favourite for this kind of business.

_"I remember,"_ murmured River, unearthly from somewhere near his elbow. They both jumped. No, she wasn't there. She better not be there.

After some looking he found it, a small comm device, crackled loud enough to be heard from the small bulge it made from the inside pocket of his coat. "What?" he asked.

_"It was when she was wandering in childhood gardens, and you were between everything. And nothing. Drinking the black."_ Her voice had that misty, clouded quality it took on when she was having a bad day. _"Your feet were up on the console. The words wouldn't go straight. I couldn't make them."_

He exchanged a look with Jayne, who spun a finger around an ear, and started making preparations for their ambush. "We got trouble riding up on us, so..."

_"I remember,"_ she continued, insistent. _"You think you're already dead. You're not."_

Well, if that was all... "Thanks for the reminder," he told her impatiently.

_"Because both of you are going to die. Soon. You went through the gate."_ He could imagine her piercing eyes, distant, seeing what couldn't be seen. _"__Kaylee has thought about Simon thirty-three times since she left. Simon has thought of her twice_." Scorn, near ranting now. "_And neither of you will admit it, and she's running out of time__."_

He felt something icy quench his veins, and River paused, as though listening.

_"Have to go. Zoe and Simon are having a baby."_

The comm clicked once, and went silent. He stared at it, holding it out away from him, hand outstretched, palm up, as far as possible. "What the hell?" Jayne blurted, eyes wide.

God's wrath rumbled closer on sand-treaded wheels. Another shared look, and they scrambled into position.


	14. Chapter 13

Writing's still going pretty slow, unfortunately. Haven't even started the next part of the action, after reading some of the new stuff, I had to put this in somehow. Really wasn't how I was expecting to go, but I guess that's how it is sometimes. I've solidified my sense of the timeframe of this story, and made the appropriate edits.

This is somewhere around four months after the movie. The first month, with Alliance help, they managed to repair the ship. the second month they were looking for work, Inara left around the start of the third month, Kaylee got kidnapped like a week later, and they've been kicking around planet side trying to scrounge up some way to repair Serenity for the three weeks since. Sorry if this has been confusing.

Also, I may end up helping out with a spriting project for an unofficial fanmade 2D Firefly MMORPG. The engine is apparently almost ready, so maybe this one might be going somewhere, we'll see. This will likely make my writing of the next action sequence take even longer, and as you all know, action sequences are what I'm slowest at (though I can't say I've been innocent of procrastinating here, either).

I still have a strong idea of where I want to go with the story though. I know it's gotten really slow since the beginning, where I was managing an update like every couple of weeks, but I haven't lost interest, and I'm not burned out, and I do plan to finish. Thanks for your time.

* * *

Chapter 13  
Normally, he would have been looking after his sister. She had been upset about the crew leaving, and finally had calmed down enough only minutes before to insist they go outside, some sort of claustrophobic whim having taken hold of her. For him to deny her anything that might be some relief for her distress was unthinkable.

The outpost was quiet, a few villagers standing around chatting, gathering wayward children or watching their play indulgently, but most had already retired into the tunnels under the domiciles for the night.

Day and night, they all took turns watching their flocks or staying behind with the children. The rotation of shifts was comfortable, even routine, and sometimes he could almost forget that even here, they carried guns everywhere no matter what the job.

He hadn't thought of the others much, his attention needed as a doctor and brother. Now he was reminded acutely. _Bovine_, River had proclaimed, peering oddly, unfathomable and knowing. He'd decided not to ask, and his poor Ophelia had danced off after - or perhaps with - the fireflies that had emerged from the tall grass. Some sort of ballet, solemn as a temple dance, that only she knew. Dressed in bleached linen, she glowed in the cold moonlight nearly as much as her partners, a ghostly mirror to them as she meandered, then bowed low every few steps in an arabesque.

Zoë was left a radio instead of rue. After overhearing River's transmission, the soldier had sharpened into an intensely focused state. She reminded him of the tiger banners hung all over Capital City four years ago on _yuándàn_.

"Sir?" she hailed. Some small amount of concern broke through her stoicism. Hadn't she been arguing with the captain earlier? She didn't forgive easily; Niska's fate, both times storming his complex was an example of her wrath. Yet Mal seemed a special exemption, or perhaps the deference was just professionalism.

No answer. Simon climbed to his feet. "What's going on?"

"Radio silence," Zoë answered humourlessly. Her eyes, dark and fierce in her stone carved face said the rest - _or worse_.

She held a simmering anger, at the _yúmùnǎoké_ captain, for rushing heedlessly into danger. Or for leaving her behind. Or at a brother and sister, for needing her protection. At herself? Maybe all of it. Sometimes he wondered if she blamed River and himself for everything that had happened. Other times, he knew that she did.

"They haven't been caught by the Alliance, have they?" he asked. They would have to leave, quickly. If they hurried, maybe they could think of some way to save them. Before Jayne sold them out. Or, what if they tortured them? He used to think the Alliance was above such brutality. But if they thought Ezra was in open rebellion... He imagined Mal, Jayne, and even Inara might be able to withstand torture. Not Kaylee.

Zoë sighed, some of her frustration escaping as she exhaled. "Captain's never had stealth and subtlety for his strong points. Likes to confront things head on," she said, her observation sounding tired. "And I think he's got the kind of girl trouble with him he'd do anything to impress."

"Even risk their lives?" Alarming, but Simon wouldn't have put it past the captain either, and found Zoë's assessment all too consistent with his own.

Her hand floated up and over to rest her stomach, some not too distant memory playing behind her eyelids. "Person can risk a lot, they care enough. Ain't always thinkin' straight when we steal sisters from Alliance doctors, or stay on a deathtrap with the husband 'cause a friend's in a bad way."

Her fingers clenched against her leather vest; now that he was looking, it wasn't cinched as tight as usual. "When are you going to tell him?" His casual question got a not-so-casual reaction, her head jolting up and around. Off her look, he clarified, stumbling. "The captain. That you're... pregnant?"

Her blank stare didn't change and Simon once again marveled at how well he could misread a situation. "Doc," she said slowly, "You callin' me fat?"

"Ah, no. Of course not," he backpeddled, very much aware of how she towered over him and could probably break him in half. "I only said you were expecting, you haven't gained any noticeable weight yet." Zoë's expression was still unreadable, but untold emotions were still flickering through her eyes too fast to follow. He realized it suddenly. "You didn't know."

She was quiet for some time, until he thought he had offended her again. Then she spoke, low and deep. "We'd been talkin' on it some time, even both of us settin' aside our cuts for a nest egg. After the Reavers almost got us on Lilac, it shook us both. He agreed we could try for a baby, I agreed we would leave _Serenity_ when we got to Beaumonde." Both of her hands were clutched around her stomach now, like holding back the pain of an ulcer, or like she'd swallowed one of Jayne's grenades. "Ain't had any sickness."

Simon tried for soothing, the faked optimism he had never quite perfected on his rounds around the trauma ward. "Not everyone does." Beaumonde, that would be about four months. "I don't have any pregnancy tests, but this far along I might be able to hear a heartbeat."

Her gaze dropped, focusing her attention inward, as though she could hear her growing child within her if she listened. "I must've missed, didn't even notice the signs." A tremor of anger and self disgust stabbed through her voice. "_Didn't even notice_."

He felt confused, and a little uneasy, not sure what was happening here. This was good news, wasn't it? Was she going to punch him for telling her? "You were distracted," he tried.

"_Gǒupì_," she dismissed sharply, the no-nonsense corporal. "Weren't dead, either." He wasn't quite able to hide his wince at the hardness he heard, and was grateful when Zoë's radio emitted a crackle of static, amazed at the military efficiency with which she could switch to business. "Captain."

The response was a few moments coming. "Inara got us an in." Well, at least they were all okay. "Shuttle clearance, tomorrow. Lookin' at an oh-seven departure. Be ready."

The comm device went silent again, nothing said about the danger Mal had mentioned earlier. He could see Zoë, torn between her past and her future again, trying to decide, and could also see the moment when she gave in and her loyalty won out. He suspected this wouldn't always be the case. "Best gather your sister and whatever you're taking tonight," _Serenity_'s first mate suggested.

The reminder drew his attention back to something very important, more so because of the absence. He startled; the grassland was suddenly empty and the fireflies were now very alone. "River?"


	15. Chapter 14

Thanks again to Aliasse and Platonist. And GR, who I discussed an idea with here.

* * *

Chapter 14

"Sir!"

A marine pushed through the olive canvas flaps of the field tent, used for a temporary sleeping arrangement for the ground forces. Belatedly, the young man realized his mistake, as the captain rolled over on his cot and propped himself up on his elbow with a tired expression.

The young lieutenant, as though sensing his imminent demotion, came to an abrupt halt and saluted. "Permission to speak, sir!" Remarkably, he didn't think to alter the volume of his near shout.

The captain dragged himself upright, he hadn't been sleeping anyway. Really, the interruption was almost welcome, replaying as he was memories of reinforcing barriers, and laser fire, and women crying over the charred corpses of men who, just moments before, had been shouting at the security forces in an unfamiliar tongue. "Clearly your message is urgent enough it can't wait until morning," he replied dryly. He hoped. "At ease."

"Yessir." But the lieutenant didn't relax; if anything, the boy looked ready for a dressing down, like a drill sergeant from basic training might swoop down on him at any moment. He remembered this soldier now from the night before; despite the action earlier in the day, despite the vague resemblance of the open-faced helmet to a samurai warrior of old, the new-minted officer's armor still had its factory polish. "Kurtz VMO-3 reporting in from patrol on the east airstrip." The captain waved the boy on. "They were ambushed, sir."

Not unexpected, and he could see how it might have happened. Reduced visibility, and his men were all green, overeager and out looking for glory. They'd simply seen an opportunity to chase after. He sighed. "How many?" he asked, reaching under the cot for his folded grey trousers and mao jacket.

"Four casualties, two dead." Half the squad. "And they took the roller."

His mind stumbled over the news, taking a few moments to attempt to process the information before giving up. Rollers were their heavy armor, anti-infantry functioning as artillery, a mobile bunker for up to five soldiers, and in urban combat, a decent battering ram. To take one while it was fully armed and operational required both gumption and a lapse in sanity.

_Reynolds_, he realized. They'd heard the rumours, of course, every native they'd questioned earlier who they could understand had some story to tell.

He remembered the screams, the greasy smoke and the smell of ashes that would haunt him until the day he died. Never again, he swore. "Put a hold on the patrols at night, and have all patrol groups coordinate with air support in the future." They'd have to try to recover the roller in the morning.

The junior officer gave an affirmative, then stood by as he double-timed pulling on his uniform over his sleep pants and shirt, as though he needed a escort to the infirmary to assess the damage himself. The boy was completely unaware and had no conception of how dangerous their quarry was. More than ten years since that fateful day, the captain had hunted down Reavers and potentials under the guise of the Alliance Anti-Insurgency Force.

He knew what a desperate man looked like, and what they were capable of.

- - - -  
Mal's got some kind of deathwish. Was the only thing Jayne could think of, way the man ran ass on fire into bad business and losing battles. Something about the war knocked them screwy, both Mal and Zoe, seeing she was _feng le_ to follow.

Jayne leaned out the side of the transport, firing off a few quick bursts of _think-twice-about-chasing-us_ from the rifle he'd took. There they were, barreling down some alleyway, walls too close for comfort and mowing down the wreckage those snot-nosed brats left when they gone and snatched the mule. Just his luck Mal tries to hijack them a ride from the slavers, ends up there's an entire gorramn convoy to take issue.

He missed wide, the snake-rattle of automatics gunning for them, their tires squealing like a stuck pig. Near got clipped from some of the bullets ringing off the metal around his head and he pulled back. _Hun dan_. His legs still weren't under him proper from taking that kayo hit. As a merc, he knew about job risks, but some of the free-doings he got up to with this crew just didn't figure right, in particular the kind what a man meets his own breakfast twice. "Hey!" he hollered, "the _wuyazui_ girl gonna be right 'boutcha dying, you can't keep 'er steady!"

"You wanna drive?" Mal shouted back, not looking. Jayne gritted his teeth. What Mal wanted was obvious; Jayne had seen enough barfights started when a man thought some woman was his, or wanted her for his, even when she said no like Inara, and Kaylee was Mal's little sis like crazy was Simon's. Didn't matter they weren't blood, Mal did for them like they were. Jayne liked having some pretty around to look at himself, so long as they didn't take a knife to him, and so what he wanted was to get to his grenades in their mules without getting himself splattered. Better yet he'd like to lay down until his headache was gone away and not get shot for it, but weren't either happening.

Girls were going to _owe_ him when they found them. Pay him back or pay for it, he didn't much care which, and he wouldn't say no to a fresh cooked meal either. Maybe they could get the captain some too, man was so wound up Jayne thought they might fall off.

The transport swerved again, this time purposeful into the cloth cover of a sales booth, and he heard someone yell in surprise, stuck his head out in time to see a bundled up slaver go rolling out behind them. Also came face-to-face with a one man boarding party, and Jayne made quick work of tossing the other man to the ground, saw another outrunner pulling up, doing what they did best.

Mal just started on a new string of curses at the water way the slavers had chased them to. That was it, then, they were trapped. Bridge was blown up, stoneworks black and pitted, fallen in the middle. Didn't slow the captain down any. They lurched forward, up and over. Landed hard not even seconds later, sprawled him on the floor like one too many hits of the hootch. They skidded, screeching, finally came to a stop and settled back onto their wheels.

He couldn't hear any more engines, no more gunshots. Just the dark and the sound of their own breathing. He stayed down for a few, not sure. "We do it? They're gone?"

The captain was staring out the windshield, tense. "Think the _tāmā de_ Alliance tank might have a say in that." Huh? Jayne scrambled up, trying to see for himself over the dash.

"They aren't Alliance," said a girl come up front from the back. They looked; teens, but small for her age, black fringe around her face. She was grinning, toothy, her narrow eyes less than friendly. "And this is our turf."

- - - -  
The darkened alley was riddled with death; bullet holes in the sandbrick walls, blood cooled around the blanched overseer, and their boss, coolly surveying the four guards and two drivers responsible for the mess and his missing chattel. His fingers drummed a funeral march against his crossed arms. Folsen had been a drunk and a beast, mad with power, but useful for weapon procurement.

His ten other mercenaries had an arsenal aimed at the unlucky six, and a twenty platinum bet that the short one would squeal. "Let me understand this," he began, endeavoring for complete calm. "I have Alliance breathing down my neck, my pet Federal Marshal has been killed, and you just lost the new merchandise, _that I already have a buyer for_."

Presentation was everything, and contrary to popular opinion, crime paid plenty. With Niska out of the picture and the old man's playboy son off gallivanting around the core, Shoshenk was the only one left in the organization with close access to the docks and in any position to keep business running as usual. Unfortunately, the other splinter cells disagreed, but the Syndicate would bring them to heel.

He'd forgotten his people, they all said, terrorizing his homeworld, had greed too big for his eyes. Called him Niska's shadow for his swarthy looks and suits. He saw the envy, buried under the hate. Out here, wealth was the difference between have and have not, freedom and slavery. Himself and them, these worthless buffoons. He shook his head, smoothed down his slicked back hair. "I can't decide which is worse, that according to your stories, none of you could take down two unarmed men -" he spit them with a hard glare - "Or, more likely, this was some ill-conceived plot to steal my slaves from me, and you couldn't even get that right."

They stayed quiet, cowed, but for the short one, also apparently the stupid one. "It was him," the boy insisted, still trying to defend himself, "Reynolds and his crew."

"It doesn't matter," Shoshenk snapped. Incompetence perhaps was marginally better than treachery, but in the long run had the same result. Both were a waste of his perfectly good credits.

Niska would have tortured him, but so long as he had an Alliance cruiser hanging over him in orbit, he wasn't going to put one foot out of line. The core worlds so loved their stories about human rights, ignorant as they were that large scale corporate operations, terraformers, and even the Alliance itself were all big players in the slave trade. He'd already contributed some muscle to the occupation, helping set up barricades and basic improvements for the solders' base camp, but he wasn't so foolish as to make himself a target.

Unfortunately, killing his own men was also a waste of resources, tempting as it was to set an example. "Clearly you're worthless as guards, but one way or another, you will get me my money back," he decided. "Perhaps your Captain Reynolds will save you."

- - - -  
Hope was the bigger danger; back then, morale was the battle, more so even than the Alliance or seekers and squad killers. So long as there was still hope, a soldier could still keep moving, keep fighting, keep breathing.

The real world was full of creeping gas that killed them screaming and disease that crusted over the tongue and eyes. Pus leaking from limbs blown off. Corpses of men and women they stacked waist high for cover. They'd crawled elbows and knees through six inches of muck and blood, eaten the maggots off the dead and called it rice because to stop was to give up, and to give up was to die.

He'd tried to keep it at bay, spouted from the fat book like it would save him and his men, and it was only when the angels he'd called hadn't been theirs sent them all to fiery hell, when false hope finally betrayed him, that he surrendered and let despair in.

Even then, he learned that there wasn't so much a man could lose that he couldn't lose more. Here he was now, with lifetimes of regret for them who ended premature, for Wash and Zoe, Kaylee and Simon, for the Shepherd, and even Jayne.

And Inara, he could pour his heart out and fill an ocean with things unsaid. Things he couldn't ever say, not when they were nearly out of air, not even to say goodbye on some godforsaken moon; things he whispered in her ear, arms wrapped around her when he was dreaming, that scraped him raw when he was awake.

Mal could hear their captors, maybe ten of them, milling around, keeping the slaves in one place and them away from the slaves. He was kneeling, a gun at the back of his neck, Jayne laid out on the ground next to him, snoring from a direct hit from one of their own stolen sonic rifles. And their chances were growing dimmer by the moment.

Jayne snorted abruptly and went quiet a few moments while his memories caught up to the present. Mal didn't envy him much, actually getting knocked out from a kayo felt worse than just getting hit by one, what with the longer exposure time for it. "M' I dead?" There was something nervous in the question, almost a tremble.

Jayne conscious wasn't much of an improvement over unconscious. "Couldn't talk if you were," Mal pointed out.

The mercenary mulled this over, taking too long by far, then spoke again. "Mal? Can't see anything."

"We've been blindfolded," he explained tiredly. "The girl and her friends took us captive."

"Oh yeah. _Qīngliàngjí ruo guǐ_ suckered me," Jayne growled. "You see her anywhere? Need to smack her one."

Mal wasn't sure which part to address, that the odds by weapon number weren't in Jayne's favour or his wounded pride, or that them being blindfolded meant he couldn't see either. Instead, he tried to remember what he was still paying Jayne for. To his credit, the man had helped bust them into a city under Alliance lockdown and hadn't complained too loud when they were fending off gunfire and those outrunners. So why his hired muscle couldn't handle ninety pound girls, psychic assassin or not, Mal couldn't understand for the life of him.

Truth be told, Mal didn't know how many more people he could take losing. Even though the man was lewd to the women, antagonized his doctor, and had table manners this side of appetite-ruining, the lummox had a place on his crew. Still. "Jayne," he said flatly, "if you get us both killed tonight, I'm takin' it outta your next paycheck."

Jayne grumbled a bit, then seemed to listen for something. "Hey, there's another mule comin'," the tracker announced.

He heard the hovercraft approaching soon after, pulled up with some whispering, then a few light footsteps as someone crossed the distance to stand behind him. They tugged at his shirt collar, and he sighed, got to his feet and spread his arms. They'd checked him over for concealed weapons once already, removed his piss-poor cover and coat, but he supposed they were just being thorough.

Speaking of which, what the hell where they doing? This was no pat down, it was all slow and lingering, soft hands moving over him and deft fingers and... They were touching his belt. _Why_ were they touching his belt? He tensed. Were they going to strip him down? Was he being sold off right now? This was what stud horses at market felt like.

Then the blindfold was ripped away, revealed those familiar unreadable doe-eyes. "_Wǒ zǔzōng shíbā dài huànyǒu xīnjīsāi!_" He had to look away, clench his own eyes shut against the onslaught of the fire licking across his skin, along the path she'd traced. He grew annoyed, his only defense. "_Yāo húnǚ_, you are evil," he huffed, and scowled at her, because her carefully blank expression had grown into a slow smile. "You are pure evil, and so not funny," he insisted, and Inara grinned, too gracious to laugh at him outright.

"Am not!" Jayne objected.

She looked over at the annoyance then back. "Aside from the heartattack, then, you're both fine?" Hard to stay angry with her when she sounded like that, like she was still trying to reassure herself, and she'd just been making sure he was real and all there.

He crossed his arms, tried for as curt and brusque as possible. There was pride at stake here. "Kaylee?"

She merely splayed an elegant hand towards the mule, and there Kaylee was, and not having near as much success containing herself. The girl managed to wave at him. "Hey Cap'n!" That was as much of a greeting as she could handle, before she toppled sideways into the seat, giggling like the little space monkey she was.

Great. He shook his head, relief finally catching up to him and sapping his energy. "Just so you know, that ain't how you do a frisking. S'posed to be quick, and aloof, and..." He struggled for the right word. "And not so friendly. The longer you take, the more chance you give for someone to turn on you."

Jayne had pulled his blindfold up away from one of his eyes. "Wait, you got frisked? How come I don't get frisked?"

There was some mischief about her, a way she sharpened, somehow, as for the kill. She shrugged a shoulder, bare for the dress she'd borrowed from Kaylee. "Next time I'll use a pair of handcuffs," she suggested, blithe, flippant, all wanton innocence as she chalked up another point in their ongoing battle. Oh, she did so not play fair. "Those three boys talked to their boss about arranging some kind of apology for us. We have rooms waiting, if you're interested." Her nose wrinkled, and she reached out and pushed him away. "And baths. Unless you'd like to revisit that mutiny idea."


	16. Chapter 15

Thanks again to Aliasse and Platonist.

There's a few unusual directions I'm taking some of the characterization this chapter. There's a take on Inara's feelings about her profession which might bother some of her fans. Sorry. The possibility of mixed feelings was mentioned to me by Another Sky, and it was too interesting an idea to pass up.

I've also removed a mention about a Kaylee and Jayne event having happened years ago. I think I can get where I want to go without it, and judging from the response I've been getting, this wasn't working.

* * *

Chapter 15

She'd gotten a big hug from the captain meant he'd been worried, the hair ruffle hello as he climbed up over into the driver's seat. Then was Inara, captain being gallant again and another of those moments passing between him and her friend that made her squirm in delight. They were all sweet and teasing, and she always liked them like that.

Next up was Jayne, like he was too manly for all the fuss, but he grudgingly wrapped his arms right back around her, like usual, and she reflexively swatted his hands away when his hands started drifting too southward, like usual. She smiled up at him. It was all so familiar and right they were together again, and she could just burst she was so relieved.

The truce didn't last long, especially when they came up on the big worship house they were told they could stay, smack in the center of a cobbled courtyard surrounded on all sides by a bazaar with colourful streamers everywhere. It looked shiny to Kaylee, the same stone made to look like marble, carved into swirling shapes and patterns. A dark, almost still hologram pool wavered at the base of the monument to reflect the glow of some flood lights, the only electricity she'd seen in the city so far.

Jayne had been a little wary, started ignoring the church for all he was worth, but Captain hadn't been happy at all, bickering with Inara even as he helped her down to the ground again.

Kaylee frowned, worrying her lip. Last mule they'd had, puttered like the harvester someone'd thrown the engine back together from. It'd been Wash's most of all, she remembered with a pang, him playing with it like a toy, like he did _Serenity_ sometimes. They'd set it on fire, the first time when they'd went up against Niska. She never could get it to start up after that.

The hover-mule had been hard earned, them having to cooperate with that _xiā__fà hu__ǐ__fù_ Saffron, then when they'd had trouble finding a buyer for the take.

Machines were just like people, wasn't a one in all the turning worlds worked the same. She liked to understand what made them tick, hear them tell their stories. Make things right when they were broke and keep them humming. And sometimes they were temperamental, and if you didn't treat them right, they didn't work right again. "Can't we just ask the preachers if they'll watch our stuff?" she not-quite-pleaded.

Captain glanced over at her, had that grim, bitter look didn't hold much esteem for strangers or the 'verse in general. "Kaylee," he ordered, not-quite-patiently.

Inara took that moment to walk away from their argument, off to go talk to a couple of holy men in brown robes been eyeing them since they'd pulled up. Was smart to build a rapport with the folks putting them up for the night, her being so nice and mannerly and a companion like she was.

Finally, Kaylee got out her tools, not too eager though, Captain just waiting long enough to see her give in. He nodded, and went to join the other conversation. Couldn't quite let Inara out of his sight just yet, had to keep her close, Kaylee knew. She snorted a little laugh. Captain Meanie. They all saw right through him.

She sighed then, no more putting it off, then gave the hovermule an apologetic pat. "Jayne?"

He'd been thinking about something, had been doing that lots more lately. "Need in?"

"Yep," she answered, and he lumbered on over, picked her up like she didn't weigh a thing so she could pop the side panel and wriggle into the mule's heart.

Wasn't anyone ever really alone, she thought, quickly rerouting the g-line and disconnecting the propulsion. Not even Jayne; heck, she'd taken some time just talking to him when he first got on _Serenity_ six months before Simon was more than a figment out of her kissy books. Not much else to do, Wash and Zoe were google-eyed over each other, and captain was _swai_ but anyone who got into those tightpants deserved a medal far as Kaylee was concerned. Anyhow. She was the first to ever hear about his family, and even before then she thought there was more to Jayne than the brute he tried to be.

She tugged the power cell and the alternator loose, switched them for the spares threw sparks she kept in the space under the backseat, then wired them up to the ignition so any hot-wiring would make a scene like the engine was bad.

Sometimes she wondered if Jayne saw more into their talks than she did. He never said anything and he wasn't one to talk about his feelings, but the way he snapped at Simon or looked at her seemed, dunno, like he was waiting for something.

She reached for the dampeners, pulled them open to get at the Honnecourt Capacitors and disable the grav screening. The space she was in was just big enough for two, she realized. First night since the Alliance med-ship released them after everything that she didn't have Simon. Well, she thought, starting to crawl back out, what with how worried Captain was about the purple bellies recognizing him and Inara, she better ought to tell him. Besides, wasn't _no-one_ going to steal the mule before she got to try it now.

- - - - -  
Gorramn lights. Like the builders thought they could capture some divine glory. They were too bright for him, and he wanted back on _Serenity_, sailing the black looking for work and living off the sweat of his brow.

A cross was just a symbol, one that'd lost any meaning to him a while back. Turned out the heavenly host flew Alliance standards, and he'd been forgotten in trenches laid out like graves. Like the world had ended and the rapture come and gone, left him behind for the torments of hell. He hadn't been able to cast away his old silver crucifix, so instead he hid it in a velvet box and tried to replace it with a steel one what flew. Later, when he still felt empty, he'd found other symbols, living ones to help fill the hole.

Zoë saw it. Why she'd seen fit to poke the wound, he couldn't figure. He knew what she'd lost, just the same as her. Knew the urge to keep going even as you bled out, because it was all you could do.

But sometimes, like now, when those still with him and breathing were all accounted for, he thought maybe he could live with this, maybe this was all he needed. Made him think of other things, like Zoë had felt with Wash, normally too out of reach to entertain. Of not having to fight anymore, lose anymore, run anymore. A life under the open sky, long gone, a normal life like the one he'd known. Swaying grasses, horses and cattle, wooden fences and houses. Family.

He hadn't lost anyone else tonight. That would keep him going, a while longer. Provided that Someone Else up there didn't have their say.

"_Marhaban._ Captain Reynolds, I presume?" One of the priests stepped forward, an older man with a grizzled beard.

Now that was odd. Pretty woman like Inara, and it looked almost like they'd been outright ignoring her, even the young acolyte attending them. She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm, causing him no small confusion, and gave him a smile that hid some frustration. He got the message, though. _Play along_.

Too bad the shepherd wasn't here. He remembered the conversations he'd overheard with Inara about Buddhism, with Jayne about Jayneism, Zoe and Wash about married life and parenthood. Book was a rare man of faith wasn't too particular about which, and though he'd never rightly appreciated those insights when the shepherd was still alive, he missed them now.

Mal took the outstretched hand, shook. "You'd be right. What c'n I do for you?"

The priest waved him off. "Later, later. Mama Tauwati would like to talk to you, but later. Now, you must be dusty and weary from your travels." The man glanced at Inara, seemingly for the first time. "Are they yours? They are not unchaperoned?"

He felt Inara stiffen by his side, and something about the question put him on edge. Some worlds still followed old holy law, well, with religious devotion, and he was fair sure this was one of those things that could end with a stoning. "They're mine," Mal answered quickly - did he mean _wives_? "Well, the little one back there, we're not, we're more kin," he corrected, stumbling.

"I can see the resemblance. Truly, you are a blessed man," the old man praised.

Inara was pinching his bicep now. Hard. He forced a smile. "And moreso everyday."

"All finished!" Kaylee reported, cheerfully unaware of all the awkward and painful she and Jayne had blundered into. At least now the interruption took the conversation a turn away from his wedded bliss. He finally pulled his arm away from Inara's attentions while the priests were distracted, buffing out the injured spot and giving her a wounded look. She ignored him. _Tama de_, woman, was she trying to amputate him or something?

The priests gave the girls some lengths of fabric to cover up with, and led them down through a series of vaults, deeper underground, until he had half a notion they'd just bury them in the catacombs.

He was the last into the little antechamber, and stopped short as a blast of steam washed over him. Springs bubbled from fountains along the plastered walls, dripping onto tile mosaics in blue and what looked like real gold, draining down to a stone slab in the center raised over smoldering coals. Above them, the domed ceiling opened to a skylight with a clear view of the stars.

Kaylee was as ever outspoken in her enthusiasm. "This'll be just like skinnydippin'!" she cheered - _just how had she gotten her clothes off so fast?_ - and Mal suddenly wished he'd been listening to the long historical tour the priests had given them. At least this wasn't the first time his crew had to see him in the altogether, he supposed.

He looked elsewhere on purpose and saw Jayne, leering, realized Inara hadn't moved beyond the doorway either. "Jayne!" he hollered, "You keep lookin' an' I'll blind you!" The barbarian grumbled and began stowing his shirt in the dry caches provided. "You and Kaylee get yourselves settled first," Mal offered Inara apologetically, "we'll follow after you give us the all clear, and I'll keep him from botherin' you girls too much."

Inara didn't look his way, kept her face hidden by her veil of soft black curls. "Thank you." Still she didn't move.

He frowned. Something else then, and he figured it probably had to do with him. Fine then, she could be that way. "What? What's wrong?" he demanded, "You body shy or somethin'?" She whirled at him, her eyes furious and her face colouring even in the faint light, then strode away with not near her usual grace. "How is that even possible?" he called after her. She just shot him another glare over her shoulder, slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders to pool at her feet, and wrapped herself up in her towel before he could admire the view.

- - - - -  
She remembered sitting by this window before, trying not to think about the other time; the fear, the uncertainty, unfamiliar people and surroundings as she was taken. Staring out into the darkness watching for Mal. Just an hour or so ago, she'd been praying that she would have the chance to see him again, rather than wishing she was outside with Kaylee and Jayne, watching for trouble, instead of in here with him.

Body shy. Mal had accused her of being body shy. Her! Oh, but the captain, hypocrite that he was, could pretend to be completely fine with nudity and get by on pure bluster and bravado, but she, he had to tease her with something so, so, nonsensical! She had experience, nearly a hundred clients had seen her over her career. She was always astounded to find how insulting Mal could be, how obnoxious...

How completely and unmistakeably right. Her reflection blushed again at the memory.

She needed to stop thinking about this, she was here to read the meeting and their contacts, determine if they had any ulterior motives. Once she couldn't feel her cheeks burn any longer, she turned away from the view of the empty street to take in the store.

The set up was homely, shelves and rugs and some wood paneling made to imitate the inside of a traditional yurt arranged around a seating area to discuss business, velvet chairs and pillows and a chaise longue. This, of course, was a front to hide the black market activity that funded and supplied the members of Ezra's anti-slavery resistance, the _Bûmelerze_.

Seated, or perhaps more accurately, filling the largest armchair was a singularly impressive woman in a head scarf and sandals, a business vest and jacket stretched around her middle over the voluminous skirts of her local dress. In a fair fight, Inara thought Mama Tauwati might have an advantage over the captain just by sheer size, but had been an attentive hostess when Inara and Kaylee had been waiting for Mal and Jayne to be found, and lived up to her nickname by offering them both biscuits and tea.

The captain and the shopkeep were studying each other, as they exchanged introductions and pleasantries, and both seemed to decide they were ready for business. Inara was certain Boss Tauwati was a long lost relative of _Serenity_'s first mate; she had the same manner of collected calm, the same fierce protectiveness.

"Captain Reynolds, I have a job for you and your crew," the larger woman said, and leaned forward, lacing plump fingers together. "Councilor Larrol is having an invitational. The garrison officers will be there, and it's the perfect opportunity to find out what they're planning."

What had her friend gotten herself into? Inara wandered over to Mal, still refusing to look at him, and settled against his armrest. "And it's also an _invitation_al, meaning, invitations. You won't be able to get through security."

"Not everyone will have one." Boss Tauwati's broad lips stretched into a frown. "Unless she has extended a warm welcome to the fresh batch of help she's bringing in."

Mal tensed. "Slaves. You're wanting to send us in disguised as slaves." He frowned in suspicion. "And just how're you gonna make 'em talk?"

Thanks to the night's events, Inara knew more than she wanted to about Ezra's shadiest business, had overheard enough conversation. She hoped it was all wrong, that her friend was innocent, but out here on the rim, she had learned how different things were.

Inara saw Mama Tauwati's attention turn to her in answer, met Mal's glance when he looked over. His eyes hardened, and he shook his head furiously at the imposing woman. "No. Appreciate what you've done for us, but we got our own Alliance problems." He couldn't leave fast enough, the reminder sharp and terrible.

She understood. Had the kindness of these strangers only been for an advantage? Had they intended to use her all along, give her over to something she hadn't chosen, to a man she knew nothing about?

Someone who wasn't Mal. She'd even started imagining him when she was with clients. Her preoccupation had only gotten worse after Nandi, and then at the training house, so much so that she hadn't taken any appointments for months.

_I am a companion_, Inara reminded herself. Mal's opinion would never change, and her life was about helping people. She took a steadying breath, resigned and ready, her head bowed. "And if I agree?" Her voice sounded small.

The captain slowed, and she wasn't sure if she had imagined him whisper her name, or a curse. Perhaps both. The other woman appraised her, keen scrutiny from under heavy eye shadow, decided she approved. "We'll help you release the landlock on your ship, and we can get the last of the parts for your repairs." There was something almost like a smile on her neutral features. "Your mechanic has been working with some of my boys. We can get what you need."

Mal didn't react to the offer, his focus only on her, his expression guarded but his eyes striking blue and stricken. "I can't ask this from you," he told her, roughly.

Inara rolled her own eyes before she could stop herself. "But you can put _yourself_ in danger without a second thought," she scoffed. "This isn't asking."

"And this ain't like your sessions with all your rules," he retorted. "What you do sure as hell ain't any of my business, but to let you go off into the hands of some lecherous _Zhū__ Bā__jiè_ won't say no, who'll take every liberty because he thinks he good as owns you?" He rumbled low, almost a growl. "There ain't enough platinum in all the stars and all the planets'd make that worth it."

She sighed. "This is what I do, Mal." She remembered a parade of clients throughout her career, the heartache she kept hidden when the fantasy ended. She cared too much, she couldn't help but care, no matter what the Guild taught. Weariness chased her frustration from her breath. "Let me help you."

Anger blazed cold in his eyes. He didn't answer, just crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorframe. Challenging, defiant.

Mama Tauwati was watching their entire exchange, only a single arched eyebrow to communicate what she was thinking. In another life, on another world, she could have been an incredible companion. "You will, of course, be able to decide just how involved you want to get. It's possible you'll only need to serve a few drinks."

Mal stomped back over, looming. "Also possible it's gonna get real complicated real fast, so if we're doin' this, I'm takin' no chances. This goes bad, which it's like to, I'm pulling you out ready or not." Inara couldn't bear to look at him, but she could feel his intense gaze, and could hear the strain in his voice. "I'm not leavin' you again."

- - - - -  
River could hear, like echoes, a pebble dropped and waves on the shore. Worry and then the sound, overlapping, louder and softer depending on interference, silent sometimes but she heard anyway. Always hunting, take her out and _them_ to put her back.

Forsworn by Apollo, Asclepius, Hygieia and Panacea. Do no harm. Bad needles and good needles and they blended sometimes. Monsters stealing into her mind to cast their shadows, imprinted outlines, ashes on the ruins of a city. Shelled. Had they been human once? She couldn't remember. The form was the same but the function was wrong.

She curled up and held on. It was all she could do. "Calm now," she whispered. The words formed something true and she didn't (couldn't) let go. Calm. For now.

Simon found her, looked in on her, and decided she was asleep. He settled nearby, in a spot where he could watch over her. She stayed with him until he dozed off, then spent the rest of the night flitting between dreams.


	17. Chapter 16

I haven't checked yet to see how long this one is, I suspect it's longer than usual, and also boring. Sorry.

A little more inter-relations mix-up in this one, though some of you might be grateful to hear that I removed the Kaylee/Jayne hints in the previous chapter. I decided that though it's an interesting twist, I don't really need that to get where I want to go.

I also promise, as screwed up as things look here, I plan to treat everyone involved here sympathetically. There's a reasonable explanation.

Aliasse and Platonist as ever have my thanks for putting up with my neuroses. Also, a shout out to Cliosmuse, for her description of Inara that will now forever inform my imagination of her.

* * *

Chapter 16

Dust and sand. She blinked and there was grit in her eyes, she ate and there was more Ezra soil in the bowel blistering local cuisine than there was Ezra culture. Pvt. Haverson couldn't imagine why anyone would live in the capital city, let alone build there; despite being feed by a major river, canals everywhere, they were still in the middle of a _shài hàn zào_ desert wasteland.

Josie was just glad it wasn't hot yet. The temperature around here was _dòng yáo_; if it didn't feel like a blast furnace, it was freezing, and the difference between day and night was more than merely aesthetic. Morning was the only respite between the two extremes, and didn't last near long enough.

Sometimes she thought she'd really like to punch out the genius who'd decided on black and purple for their standard issue tactical armour suits. Or, heck, whoever was managing the shift schedule around here; they'd been trained by the best, but three days without sleep was pushing it and sometimes she had this nagging feeling like she was forgetting something important, and couldn't bring herself to care. At least the electronics in her helmet were helping keep her alert, otherwise she'd probably be konked out right here and heading for disciplinary action.

She leaned back against the sandbag barricade, Iskellian-15 at rest against her shoulder. Another farmer passed between her and her partner on guard duty, leading what was probably a pack animal under the baggage but looked like two enormous bundles with four legs. "How many donkeys do these people have?" Mick asked, and Josie had to agree. Smelled like there was already more than enough manure in this beige hovel hellhole.

A line of grungy and foul-smelling misery had already formed hours before, promising only to get worse as the morning warmed and tempers heated. Just a few more hours, Josie told herself. One of the aristocrats in the area was putting on some big evening affair for the troops, and the officers had decided to shuffle everyone through in shifts under the pretense of providing security detail. Really, it was mostly an excuse for some relaxation. None of them honestly had any taste for the upper class conception of entertainment or cuisine, but far be it for any of them to complain.

Next was a hovermule, beat-up, used, and utilitarian, goldenrod with a cargo grappler attachment on the front like it had been swiped from a loading dock somewhere. Ancient though it was, it still looked more advanced than most of the transportation they'd seen. It was something of a marvel that the vehicle hadn't been stolen and stripped; clearly neither the brawny driver or petite passenger were local.

Though cheerful enough, the girl and her coveralls seemed to be in a desperate state. The man was even more scruffy and inordinately pleased about something, in a way that belied his unkempt facial hair, his rumpled jacket over a dirty muscle tee.

"Name, business, and Ident-card," Josie requested, already bored.

"Cap'n Rob Harbatkin," he declared, with particular emphasis on his title. The man actually puffed out his chest and jabbed himself with a thumb, and Josie thought he was probably in violation of a customs restriction on ego. "Got some work out on some lady's homestead having a fancy to-do."

Him and every other untrustworthy spacer from the docks, seemed like; Councilor Larrol had stopped at no expense for her party. The Ident-card cleared and she passed it back. "Ship?"

The girl grinned; Kaywinnet Lee Frye, according to her card. "_Serenity, _she's an aught-three Firefly. Best out there you'll ever see," she claimed.

Aught-threes weren't even in production anymore, hadn't been for decades even, so Josie imagined that was both fairly accurate and not at all the ringing endorsement of the ship's condition that the girl thought it was. She frowned at her datascreen, something about the name tickled her memory. There it was, an alert out on a Firefly class B cargo ship. "Step away from the vehicle!" she called out, and Mick obligingly raised his own IS-15 rifle.

Frye looked terrified, the deer in headlights look of someone who wasn't used to being at gunpoint, but Harbatkin just snorted. "Aw hell, not this again," he complained, but both complied and began to climb down from their seats. "Don'tcha all know there might maybe be more'n one _Serenity _out there?"

Another glance at the datascreen. Registered: Capt. Malcolm Reynolds. She scrolled down; sure enough, there was a second entry, only registered to a Capt. Robert Harbatkin. "Oh hell," she cursed, echoing the sentiment.

"They have us chasing after the wrong ship?" Mick guessed.

"Looks like," Josie confirmed tiredly. She shrugged at Harbatkin, who looked annoyingly smug, but nothing else offense worthy. "Sorry, but I still have to search you for contraband," she explained, and he just grunted and crossed his arms.

She looked for any signs of sabotage, then popped the access panel and reached into the machine. Her hand encountered something unexpectedly soft, and didn't give away immediately when she tugged. She pulled harder, and a quilt came free as something heavy fell over with a _clunk._ She frowned, checked, no, nothing sewn into the seams. Further investigation found some spare engine parts were the culprit, packed in with a few more blankets. Eventually she touched the metal framework of the hovermule and shoved it all back in, slightly disappointed. "Bah. At least C Company found something. Hey Mick, you hear about the missing roller? Got dumped in a sewage canal or something."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Apparently Baker about had a fit. Where'd they even get all that paint?"

"We good here?" the spacer asked, beginning to sound impatient.

Josie waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Get going." A fight broke out down the line as two groups jostled for position, and she was already running towards them as the two drove away.

- - - -  
The _yōu líng_ followed them, curious spirits rippling along the mirrors as they passed, whispering about new arrivals at terminal two, announcing the new flavour of Blue Sun cola. Her heart beat raced in excitement and apprehension, and she didn't look at the ghosts, because in the stories, that was when they would grab you, and you would be lost. Her slippered feet skipped over the tiles, careful to step only on the narrow line the color of rich wood instead of the deceitful pale tiles that meant death.

She held Chevalier, velvet and white, close in one arm, her other hand held by her _māma_, who looked back often, to make sure she was there. "Hurry, _xiăo xĭ què_, keep up," _māma_ encouraged, and she smiled back. They rarely were ever allowed outside together, because Honoured Father was always displeased with them and kept them shut away in the tower, where everything was rich and nicely decorated but very cold.

They ducked between two scarlet red pillars, and she stopped sort at her reflection as it stared back at her, wide-eyes dark, shadowed by the twilight world beyond. Her reflection had her hair pulled back by two ribbons into midnight ringlets, wore a long-sleeved _hànfú shān_ robe embroidered with gold butterflies and flowers so violet it matched the dusk.

This was the guardian of the gateway _míng dào_, she decided. Chevalier, as ever, was very brave, and foolhardy. He whispered to her in her own voice, pitched low, that he would chase the images away. He tossed his long mane and tail and his plush silver horn and hooves tapped at the glass, his beaded black eyes glared into the eyes of his double. But the guardian remained, so he returned, abashed, back to her arms.

Her _māma_ was standing at the high window, very elegant in a cream embellished sari, gazing out into the evening and waiting.

She would have to outsmart the guardian herself. She had a clever idea then and closed her eyes, until a glow against her eyelids made her open them again. She couldn't see her reflection for the light, and watched, amazed, admiring the long neck, the blazing tail of the gleaming white firebird that alighted on the ground outside before them. The Chinese word for "Spirit" was inscribed on the side in red.

The bay doors were already open for them, gold light spilling out warm and welcoming, rather like the man who appeared from the burning heart to greet them. She wasn't fooled; he might look vaguely Sihonese, maybe darker from travel, but surely a firebird in disguise would try to look as human as possible. "Anise!" he cried. He picked up _māma_ in a hug that lifted her from the ground, and she watched, wondering if they would fly away into the wind. She gazed up at him uncertainly, hugging Chevalier closer as he reluctantly let _māma_ go, and she grabbed a fistful of her _māma_'s dress for good measure. "I'm so sorry. Will you be all right?"

_Māma_ reached down for her hand again and squeezed. "We will now." She sounded so tired, everyday moreso. It frightened her. _Māma_ shook her head, her own curls bouncing. "I should have left years ago," she murmured wistfully, an admission, then finally met his eyes, her face pained but determined, softening into gratitude. "Thank you for coming."

"Always." His expression was resolute, but kind and concerned, and maybe something more. "Where will you go?" What were they talking about? She frowned.

"The Guild," _māma_ asserted. He nodded, resigned and understanding. "My sister offered to let me stay in my old dorm room at House Madrassa. It'll be good for her, to be around girls her age, and Vihara can look after her."

She hid again, peering out from behind her mother's skirt when he looked down at her, studying her with a friendly skepticism. "She's much bigger now than in the captures."

Her_ māma_ laughed indulgently, an actual laugh. "Little girls tend to do that."

She began to feel more confident, reassured by _māma_'s smile. She inched out, her own curiosity getting the better of her as he crouched down to her eye level, and she suddenly thought he seemed familiar, even though they hadn't ever met before. He was nice, really, and she thought she might like him, even if he was a firebird in disguise. "Have you ever seen the stars?" he asked.

- - - -  
From the very first, _Serenity_ had been more than just a metal hull. A firefly was a symbol; of illumination, of the soul of a person, of life and fragility. Fireflies drifting over a battlefield soothed away pain with beauty, represented hopes for a new beginning. Their light drew love from far away, and, encircling, could bring two people together.

For Inara, a Firefly was a ferry, carrying her spirit home to friends and family, that had given her both the stars and the life she had known with the Guild. She'd never forgotten, and that glimpse of the wider system from the bridge that day, black and sparkling and normally muted by the lights of the great cities, had awakened in her a longing to learn how to fly herself.

Perhaps that was what had compelled her that day to walk down the dusty lane at the Eavesdown Docks on Persephone after she'd left Sihnon. She knew it was silly to keep looking for a ship from almost twenty-five years before, most likely sold many times over or lost in the sea of space. But the transport she'd taken out here was legally bound to the core and border, and that wasn't far enough for her, not with everything washed away and feeling like she hadn't even had the chance to live yet.

The captain and the first mate had been off on business that day, leaving the mechanic and pilot to look for passengers. They had set some chairs and drinks out in front of the loading ramp, and Wash had been entertaining Kaylee with his absurd jokes, weaving his hands around in an approximation of an elaborate atmospheric chase. He'd lived up to those boasts, and then some, even if they caught up to him in the end.

Inara had been enchanted right away, and they had been happy to talk to her and answer her questions, even obligingly agreeing to show her the ship when she asked. Somehow, despite the years of dirt accumulated, the modifications made by various owners through the years, she'd known. She found the drawings she and her mother had made under the helm controls; a stick figure unicorn, and chinese calligraphy. _"Fú shòu mián cháng_."

After a few moments fighting back the tears, she stood and apologized to her new friends, still blinking rapidly, still smiling, assuring away their concerns for her. She then remembered the two empty shuttles from the tour they'd given her, and formed a plan to rent one. And inquired when the captain would return. She hadn't anticipated how complicated everything would become after that.

As the engine rumbled into motion, the propulsion propellers reverberating under the floor to either side of their hiding spot, Inara relaxed and felt Mal let out a long breath of his own. They were packed in behind the blankets and a metal compartment their industrious little mechanic had added in, she on her side and half on top of him, her head pillowed by his shoulder, his arm carefully around her waist. The mule was decidedly not soundproof or windproof, so they'd both been able to hear the Alliance sentry give up her search. They hadn't been found.

He hadn't spoken to her at all since their argument; rather, he'd left it to Kaylee to explain his lingering concerns that someone might be looking for her. Her friend had enjoyed teasing her with the solution they'd come up with to sneak them both out of the city, but never would Inara have imagined they were actually _serious_. One positive had come out of their fight, however. Mal's insistence this morning on pretending she didn't exist had helped significantly when they had to squeeze together.

Now that the danger had passed, however, everything had gone back to being very awkward. Mal shifted, like he was about to say something, finally, and she tilted her chin up, trying to see him.

Despite his anger, he'd stayed up all night in a chair, guarding them and they room they all had to share, worrying but doing his best to act disinterested. Now his eyes were closed, lashes fanned out over his cheekbones, his breathing soft. Peaceful. Inara studied him for a long moment, resisting the urge to reach up and feel the soft strands of brown hair splayed across his forehead, then sighed and settled back against him. She watched her fingers, resting on his chest, rising and falling, and eventually her own night of tossing and turning caught up with her.

- - - -  
Simon felt like he'd only been asleep for a few minutes before he'd been prodded by his insistent little sister. "You have to help her," River told him, frowning at his bleary early morning stupidity as he rolled away from her, wanting a few more hours with Kaylee. There was a rather obvious problem with this plan of action. "You're a gorramn doctor."

The alarming statement woke him up fully, just in time to hear the rumble of reaction thrusters pass overhead, but no, the 'her' in question was the formerly docile and apparently very pregnant donkey he'd found River curled up with. As was now customary for his life, there were complications; the donkey was in labour, straining, and the - colt? calf? newborn? - _animal_ was coming out hooves first.

Zoë soon found them, but rather than asking him to report for whatever task the captain had in mind, she took in the situation, then moved to assist him by holding the mother's hind legs down. The labour was too far along to turn the animal around, which would be a problematic in any case with the mother laying on its side. All he could do was help the head, shoulders, and hips along. After quite a lot of braying, near-miss kicking, and pulling, both animals were resting and doing well, as far as he could tell. "It's a donkey," he joked weakly.

"A boy," River corrected, completely fascinated. Zoë seemed scarcely less interested, contemplative as they watched the miniature donkey attempt to stand and nurse for the first time, it's fur drying and little more than a gray puff ball on long ungainly legs.

Simon smiled more genuinely at his sister. "What's his name?"

She grinned back mischievously. "Simon."

The captain interrupted before he had a chance to object. "Zoë!" They could hear him cursing, stomping around outside searching for them.

That was a nice moment that was ruined. A hint of something almost vulnerable in the first mate's expression disappeared instantly behind a neutral mask, her dark eyes hardened and bronze face statuesque. "Right here, sir."

Mal's boots and coat came into view, but he stopped on the stairs just outside, ducking his head to look into the burrowed manger from under the archway. "Need your help loading, if you forgot." He straightened to leave, paused, then stooped down again to give them a second look. "You three been havin' a hayfight or some'n down here?"

Simon hurriedly brushed the offending straw from his hair, but Zoë took a more direct approach. Coolly, she scooped up a handful of grass to lob at the captain, who dodged to the side and down a few more steps. Mostly.

"That's for the animals," Mal disapproved.

Zoë was shaking out her crimped sienna mane. "And?"

"Funny." He held up a hand for a truce, asking for an explanation. "Well?"

"Doctorin' for the settlement," Zoë answered, glancing over at the two donkeys. They observed the peaceful scene for a moment longer, then the captain grunted thoughtfully and headed back up the stairs, and they followed obediently.

Kaylee launched herself from the mule and across the grassy expanse when she spotted him, calling his name and almost tackling him. Her amber-brown hair seemed almost golden in this light flowing around her shoulders, and and she looked, smelled, and felt soft and sweet. Mal rolled his eyes and ignored them, continuing on with Zoë to join Jayne in his attempts to secure their supplies to the ground trailer. Inara was looking on from one of the shuttles, seemingly keeping her distance and avoiding the captain.

Simon saw River tense beside him, then run at the crew. "River," he called, but Kaylee reached up and turned his face back to her, catching his mouth in a surprise kiss. A warm fog melted over his thoughts like sunlight or perhaps too much rice wine, but for one: a sudden clarity, a realization that he'd missed her even though she'd only been away for one night.

"Leave her be," Kaylee murmured, her lips lingering, brushing against his. "She's not more'n a few feet away." He couldn't argue with that logic, and was about to continue indulging when the captain cleared his throat at them pointedly. They startled, and Kaylee pulled away to glare at the interloper around him. "_Xìng zāi yāo huò bào jūn_," she shouted.

Simon, for his part, had seen River staring at them, and flashed back to that time she'd watched them in the engine room. A change of subject was in order. "How was the city?"

Kaylee turned back to him and shrugged, patting his arm apologetically. "Went okay. Getting in was scary, but that turned out. Cap'n and 'Nara are fightin' again, though. Won't let her go to a party." She frowned over at the shuttle. "They even wasted a perfectly good love nest I found them, not talkin' or anything," she complained. The captain knocked something over behind them, and she nodded, satisfied by the effect of her retaliation. "Been quiet around here?"

"I wouldn't say that," he answered. "I slept in a barn and delivered a newborn." She looked impressed, and he liked it when her hazel eyes sparkled like that. "A donkey, breech birth," he clarified, feeling like he had some right to brag. "Hooves first."

She blinked at him, in a way that reminded him he was from the core, then smiled consolingly. He heard snickers from the crew. "Simon," she said gently, "They're _supposed_ to do that."

Mal walked past them, lugging the container he'd dropped around to the other side of their pile. "Might make a proper Rim doctor outta you yet, son," he deadpanned.

Jayne couldn't contain himself, doubling over and hooting with laughter. Simon bristled. He was extremely tired of being the punchline simply because he was still technically the newest member of the crew; he endured the jokes only because they didn't stem from any real dislike anymore, and because, besides Jayne, they kept his sister out of it. "I'm honoured, really," he replied, injecting as much sarcasm in his voice as he could manage.

He reached out to River, intending to maneuver her away before the insensitive troglodyte could start. She didn't seem aware of any of them now, fingers fidgeting and clasping together as she murmured to herself.

Kaylee huffed at the others, offended on his behalf. "Let's go back to _Serenity_," she suggested, and wrapped her arm around his waist. "They're about done here and Inara said she'd fly us back." A smile. "Maybe I can help some with the barn thing," she offered, her voice turning flirtatious, quiet, so only he would hear. "There's these baths in town, and I betcha I could get us both in. They let us share." She enticingly left the rest unsaid.

"What -" he started to ask her to elaborate anyway, but a thought occurred to him. "Wait, everyone? Even Jayne?" He struggled to make sense of the disturbing idea. Two words that simply did not belong together in a sentence: Jayne and hygiene. "You had a bath... with Jayne?"

Her face fell, hurt and confused. "You don't want to go with me?"

Mercifully, Inara came to his rescue, descending from the hatch to welcome them. "Oh, _mèi mèi_, of course he does. Provided, I imagine, that Jayne isn't there." There was amusement in her voice, but she was gentle as she helped River into the shuttle. "Though I can't imagine he'd be interested in joining you so soon after his last bath. We nearly had to pull him in."

"Definitely," Simon agreed, "a bath would be much better if it were only the two of us." He nodded his thanks for the save. Inara was wearing an exotic looking dress in chiffon plum he hadn't seen before swirling around her feet. He wondered about it, he knew they hadn't had time to go back to _Serenity_ first. He suspected everyone wanted a change of clothing about now, but Inara didn't exactly have anything else to wear considering the way she had arrived. Perhaps Kaylee had asked someone in town, or maybe even the captain, who tended to be overly attentive in regards to Inara's concerns.

Kaylee looked relieved, and contrite. "Sorry. I don't go meanin' to kick up a bother. Just sometimes I almost expect you to look down on me," she admitted. She laughed at herself. "Kinda see where you're comin' from, though, least no one I know ever seen you naked." He sensed Inara stiffen, trapped here now with their secret bare between them. A worry crept into Kaylee's eyes when he didn't, couldn't answer. "No one I know ever seen you naked, right?" she repeated, insistently. He couldn't look at her, and she glanced over at Inara, and understood. "Oh no," she whispered, horrified, backing away. "No, no, no no no."

"Kaylee -" the companion started, trying, lifting a hand to reassure her, but she turned on her heels and ran.

He tried to chase after her, and Inara followed. They were confronted by the crew's suspicious, reproachful eyes already on them the moment they stepped out, except for Mal, who just looked irritated. "I don't have time for this," he told them, exasperated. "Inara, get him out of here."

There was something resigned in her expression, and she nodded mechanically, and pulled Simon back inside. He heard Jayne scoff, derisively. "Always knew he was a jackass."


	18. Chapter 17

And two months later… I guess? This isn't very good, really, but at this point I'll take what I can get.

Sorry about the delay. I've had some real trouble finding time to work on this recently.

The good news is, this next chapter we'll be in the crescendo leading to the climax now, so each chapter description from now on you can basically sum up as "The situation gets worse."

* * *

Chapter 17

He had gotten onto the base with not much difficulty, and his request for transport to the Georgia system to rendezvous with the _Ratched_ was approved and assigned in only a few moments. Confirming his itinerary with the pilot was equally brief. He was glad for the lack of scrutiny; it was to be expected, given his claims and their verification, but he preferred his anonymity. As such, he found the provided spartan cot more than welcome.

Now he had a few days to review his source material. The recording had been in his possession a number of months, more of a curiosity than anything else. A souvenir from his last mission, that had helped him come to terms with all that had happened. Snapshots of a life he might have lived, mistakes he might have made from the eyes of the man who had experienced them.

He wondered now if he had ever really believed in anything. He felt as though he had, and then had felt the loss of that belief. What he did, he told himself, he did for all humankind. Had it ever been more than indoctrination? He was sure it had been, but his actions and the orders he had followed spoke differently.

Since then he had learned morality knew no side but mercy, which had its own brutality. He studied how the man had infiltrated the ranks of military service, the careful balancing act he had maintained between the Alliance and his rebellious browncoat wearing contacts. Had seen the man set up by his own superiors with an impossible operation, supposedly meant to end a war before it began, but really intended to pour fuel on the fire.

The _I.A.V. Alexander_ had burned, because the members of Parliament were desperate enough to hide the deaths of thirty million people with four thousand. He remembered his own time aboard a cruiser, and how that had turned out, and considered the package he had obtained. Perhaps the third time.

So he sat in the darkness of his quarters, surrounded itself by the black of space, and turned on the light.

- - - - -  
From the very first, she knew Simon Tam to be a sweet young man, intelligent and mild-mannered, carrying himself with the dignity expected of his family. She had just been through some troubles of her own at the time, and had been easing herself into her client database again. He was exceedingly earnest in wanting to listen to her recount her ordeal, and she had thought him very gentlemanly for his concern. She had demurred, of course, but at his insistence she had mentioned perhaps a few things she remembered. In all honesty, her memory of the event was fuzzy, and she mostly recalled how frightened she had been.

Whatever she had said, it was sufficient for Simon, and she hadn't heard from him until nearly a year later, when by coincidence they were both visiting Persephone. He had contacted her, and had been very interested in hearing about her life and particularly her new living arrangements, which she described in glowing terms.

She hadn't expected to see him as a passenger on _Serenity_, and then a Federal Marshal tracking him had shot Kaylee, and everything had taken a turn for the worse. Mal had been against the boy from the start, and after that was about ready to throw the doctor and his newly revealed sister off the ship for any excuse he could.

After she docked the shuttle with _Serenity_'s airlock, Inara swiveled in the pilot's chair to check on Simon. He was where she had left him when they'd taken off, seated on the floor, back to the bare metal bulkheads, almost as though he had slid down into the position. River was kneeling next to him, her arms around him, and Inara was concerned his anxiety might be upsetting the poor girl.

He looked up at and noticed her watching him. "I'm still waiting to see Mal's fist coming at my face." Even now, when everything might change, she felt the same compassion as she did before. "I hurt his _mèi mèi_, and in his twisted mind he'll think I've taken advantage of you."

She sat up in her chair, straight, with a posture not unlike a House Priestess correcting a student. "Mal is very loyal," she told him, "he wouldn't abandon you for something like this." Simon looked unconvinced, and she felt a further need to defend the man, partially aware of how she must sound. Her teachers would have thought she was delusional. "He's taken you back on before," she reminded him, "and in his own way, he's fond of River." The boy didn't look any more optimistic, and she began to understand. "But that's not what you're worried about."

He sighed, hung his head, and said one word. "Kaylee." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "She made me nervous at first, I didn't want anyone looking too closely and finding River. But I liked her," he admitted. "It was hard for me to show, as you're well aware. But I was flattered, really." He smiled at her weakly. "I gave up pretty much everything I'd known to get River out of that place. Finding you on _Serenity_ was a relief, and I'm grateful, because thanks to you, it felt like my old life wasn't so far away. But Kaylee..." He looked thoughtful. "Kaylee helped me feel comfortable with where I am now. I've thought maybe I might be able to make a new life, out here."

She could sympathize; sometimes, sipping a pink shaker while the others played pool, strolling around the edge of a celebration, or looking out over the cargo bay with a glass of engine wine, she even managed to forget for a while herself.

He tried to get up, River still holding on. "I have to go talk to her."

Inara felt a flash of alarm at his conviction. "Oh, Simon, no. She's with Mal at the Councilor's estate by now. You'll be caught."

The little psychic agreed, pulling him back down like an anchor. "Don't go," she muttered.

For a moment, she could see the struggle as his blue eyes lowered. Then he hugged his sister, nodding, ever the doting brother, and when he smiled, there wasn't any regret in his expression. "I'm right here. I've got you." He helped her to her shoeless feet, and Inara heard his unasked question when he glanced back over.

She smiled back. "I'll explain everything to Kaylee, don't worry," she assured him, and in a flurry of wild hair, suddenly found River wrapped around her waist. The girl was trembling, as if holding back some great torrent, and Inara thought she might be crying. "River?"

The girl held on for several long moments, somehow tighter, enough to nearly force the air from her lungs, and when she pulled away, almost reluctantly, Inara was glad to see her bright beaming face. "Don't be scared," River reassured her, and grabbed Simon's hand and dragged him out of the shuttle. Inara stared after the inscrutable genius for a few moments, confused, then sat at the console and transmitted her authorization code to port control.

- - - - -  
Maybe the brute was escaped from the councilor woman's menagerie. Not her most impressive animal, he supposed, unless you had an admiration for that of the slow and ponderous in brains and size. And then there was the beast his mercenary was gaping at, whiskered jaw working in his confusion and heavy brows furrowed. "Bet I could drop it from here," he assessed, "them tusks gotta be worth something."

"Hard to miss an elephant, Jayne," Mal grunted, pulling another broken fence stone loose. His shoulder was starting to hurt. Again. "Ya'll gonna lend me a hand with this or what?" He tossed the rubble aside.

Zoë studied him, arms crossed, lean and leaning against the wall he was fixing. The shadows of the leaves shifting over her skin gave her the look of a jungle cat. "We talkin' that one or the one we're ignoring?" she asked, and, he noticed, didn't start helping. Even injured he didn't get any respect. "Sir," she added at his look.

He squinted over at their mule where Kaylee was hiding out, sulking at their lush surroundings. Hard to blame her, really. In his younger days, a formal garden was an orchard, almost wild. Grass up to his knees, warm morning sunlight before the afternoon storms, and boughs laden with blooms of apples and cherries later to swell into full, bittersweet red fruit. Here, there wasn't a branch, stone, or flower out of place, the air heavy with rose and something like chai.

Grateful as he was for the shade, the show of wealth made him uneasy. Reminded him of the elaborate grounds and incense filled halls of a temple training house, secluded above waterfalls and green tropical wilderness.

A shrug, and he swiped the back of his wrist across his brow. He was really glad he'd thought to stow his shirt. "Don't care to know," Mal answered, and picked up his shovel again, meaning to get back to work.

Didn't pay any mind to the growing hum as the shuttle arrived, a ladybug circling the Councilor's landing pad, a pirouette dipping into a curtsy. Not to the lady of the craft herself alighting from the ingress, nor the look over she gave them, searching.

He heard Jayne's uncompliments, and from long experience, knew Zoë was raising that eyebrow. All right, so part of him was curious. The part that didn't know any better. That wouldn't learn despite every conspired attempt of the 'verse at education. Any secret that involved the doctor and Inara, he had his own worries just what he might confirm. "They'll sort it out," he amended, jabbing the spade at another crack in the wall.

Inara's eyes lingered on him for an inexplicable moment before she moved off to find Kaylee.

The plan was that she was supposed to blend in, but he was pretty sure that was some kind of joke. The girls in attendance he'd seen flitting here and there with trays and party favours, he could tell they'd been selected for show, made up and garbed to distract the soldiers. Not any of it was right, not what they were offered up for, not how most of them were too young by far.

And she was dressed as they were. Some get-up in milky white, insubstantial as a cloud, her midrift invitingly bare. A swath of the thinnest fabric cradled her, swirling with crystalline patterns that hinted more than concealed, matching the beaded band of her skirt. There was a slit in the sarong running up the side of her leg, all the way to that tantalizing spangle low around her hips. Flimsy looking, like for the better to take a handful of any of it and tear it right off her.

Knowing as always, Zoë intruded on his thoughts as they spiraled down into worser what ifs. She held out a field radio out to him, patiently, a match for the one still in his coat.

- - - - -  
The gardens had been prettied up for the party with little twinkle lights and lantern orbs, like a courtly dance in bright jewel colours. Emerald and ruby, sapphire and gold, even some coral and pearl, with diamond dew-drops from the mist beaded on leaves. Elegant birds and glittery trimmed coattails of butterflies, dancing between perfumed blossoms like layered dresses.

Kaylee wondered if the Tam estate on Osirius might be just such a vision. Like an oasis, only with about as much place for her as a desert; outside, looking in.

Her lips thinned at the approach of soft-soled footsteps; not Zoe, and Simon would never let River near Alliance, not even to patch things up. She felt the companion pause by her side and refused to look.

"I'm sorry. It was one night, before _Serenity_." Couldn't even believe she was trying to cop a plea, and more incredible, she continued. "I should have said something."

Then Inara reached out to her, like she still had some claim to friendship. Kaylee shrugged her off, glaring over the dash. The woman hovered prettily, just like if she actually was sincere, but finally got her snub. She was a real reader, that one.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I never meant to hurt you." She nearly collided with the captain as she turned away. A furtive exchange and something else passed between them, changed hands.

He climbed up next to her and rummaged around for his shirt, then Kaylee found him taking his ease against the console next to her. "Zoë and Jayne are gonna scope the perimeter. You want to go with them or you want to apprise me why I got an unhappy mechanic?"

She just didn't know what to say, what she could tell him. She'd seen the captain hurting once or twice and sometimes even though he was walking and talking, she wasn't sure if he was really okay. "You ever seen how sometimes two things seem like they should fit together, but then they don't?" she asked, hitching on the last word.

He looked uneasy. "This about engine parts?"

This was why she usually talked to Inara, Captain had a tendency to prude up like an old woman at church. She shook her head, she wasn't even thinking about the companion. "No, those fit fine," she answered, spiritless, remembered how it was. "More like having the wrong male-to-female adapter." She hurried on, insistent, before he could protest. "What I mean is, core and rim."

That was nice of him, he was trying not to look too relieved. "You an' Simon," he guessed, trying for consolation.

"You 'n 'Nara, too," she offered, awkwardly.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, quickly buried. "What'd he do this time?" he prompted instead, not about to dwell on any other point.

She used to get so mad at him, dancing around the subject and not the fun kind either, but she let him dodge it this time. "You ever think maybe Simon 'n 'Nara might be a good match for each other?"

A long pause, like he was hesitating. "It's crossed my mind." He nodded slowly. "So, the two of them. Can't say I'm surprised, him in and out of her shuttle all the time."

So not just the once, then. Had everyone known? No, probably just him and his busy body ways, keeping secrets all the time. "But you never... Even when she was gone..." she stumbled, then forced it out. "You never said a word."

The captain sighed at her."Don't change anything." There was a bitterness in his face, in his voice. "You're fighting a losing battle with that one. Don't see but for what was left behind, and wasn't like you were helping any. You pushed away, lashed out, shacked up with someone else. That ain't any way to get attention, no incentive for someone to want you." Lower now, all inwards with guilt and anger. "You got no one to blame but yourself."

Oh God. He wasn't talking at her anymore, but what if Simon really had gone to Inara because of her? She wavered, she had to get away. "I - I think maybe I do wanna go with Zoë and Jayne," she told him.

For a while she wasn't sure if he'd even heard her, but eventually he nodded, more of a jerk. "Maybe find a circuit box in case we need to cut this soiree short." She watched him uncertainly. "And be careful out there. There's bad men about."

Yeah, she thought maybe she'd found two already. He settled in the driver seat, a radio piece perched above his ear, and she decided he wasn't any business of hers.


	19. Chapter 18

So I think I've overdone it a little in the last two paragraphs here, I may come back to this and tone it down later.

Assuming my plans don't change and I don't take more time on this plot line than expected, we should start to have more of an even spread of character focus soon now, though the plot is still pretty Mal/Inara centric. I'm really not trying to neglect the characters, but there's a lot going on and I'm forgetful on the best of days.

Well, hope you all enjoy what I have anyway.

* * *

Chapter 18

Inara prided herself on her ability to feel at home in any situation, from the Sihnon New Year's Ball in the Palace of the Eternal Thousand Lotus Petals to the dark corner of unnamed bars out on the border and rim. Perhaps her time on _Serenity_ had changed her; surely she had admired more majestic and extravagant decor in the riches of her homeworld, the shining lights and culture of the core.

Yet the lavish display of wealth for the welcoming reception seemed ostentatious to her. The interior of the Councilor's estate was Londinium style, a neo-Victorian with expensive pastel prints and imported wood carving. To further divorce this world from the reality outside, baroque colonnades clashed with the arabic arcades of the exterior, and armed security guards patrolled the hallways. Amid all of this: bondage, indenture, excesses of wealth of the worst kind.

There was the Councilor out on the terrace, in a conservative black dress with blond hair styled high and adorned in pearls to stand out from the white gossamer of her attendants. There was a brown-haired marine in navy greys with two silver rank bars on his sleeves, the apparent leader of the taskforce assigned to Ezra, bringing with him civilization through suppressive artillery fire.

What might her other clients have hidden? How common were functions for the military like this catered by slave girls? How many others were there, silent and invisible and suffering? Two of the students during her stay at the Training House had been raped by Alliance soldiers from an otherwise reputable core regiment. Her call for help had been answered by the Operative, who had threatened more of the same if she refused to cooperate.

That a crime of this magnitude could happen with any degree of regularity was almost unthinkable, and thoroughly unacceptable.

She had agreed to the dangers of this infiltration hoping to find some way to help. Her decision wasn't about Mal, much as he wanted to believe she was just being contrary. When he couldn't dissuade her, he had insisted that he accompany her, despite any warrants for his arrest or garrisons, and she couldn't decide if he was being chivalrous or extra annoying. Ultimately they had compromised and she was now walking around with a hidden radio and his voice in her ear like a devil on her shoulder.

Thankfully he hadn't spoken yet, and probably wouldn't for the risk of discovery. His silent company would have been comforting if she wasn't worried about Kaylee, about whether Mal's reticence was awkward or stony disapproval. Even his breathing was distracting. She could almost feel him behind her, a soft exhalation over her skin, right there against her neck.

A shout broke through Inara's thoughts, high and warbling in the manner of Chinese Opera. "Enough of this tedious work, which fritters away the patience of the audience!" She heard laughter answer the outcry, and glanced from the east-wing balcony down towards the soldiers seated in the councilor's garden.

Judith had spared no expense on her party; an elephant had been outfitted with a covered _houdah_ carriage to ferry arriving guests across the grounds from their transports, and she had hired a troupe of Paquin performers specializing in classic theatre from Earth-That-Was for the evening's diversion. It seemed to be a fairly effective tactic so far. Most of the attention was on the colourfully lit stage that had somehow been folded out of a modified shuttle, rather than on herself and the servants. Inara wondered how long the respite would last.

The stage director bowed to everyone in attendance, choir girls and dancers warming up behind him, trailing silk streamers from elaborate costumes. He was a positively ancient looking man, gnarled and hunched in resplendent emerald robes with a long white mustache and bejeweled cane. "Let me most reverently salute the honorable gentlemen and ladies," he called out to the local high society clustered around the balustrade with their simmer wine, "and announce our intention to produce a drama called _The Little Clay Cart._"

He continued on to thank his host, the councilor Judith Larrol and her family, as well as her esteemed guests, Captain Teram Baker of the I.A.V. Ratched and the men and women of the 503rd. In the midst of the polite applause, Inara heard her sentry exhale sharply. "_There's a companion in this show gets strangled by an evil duke._"

She blinked, surprised to hear him talking to her almost as much as his choice of conversation. "You've seen this play before?" she asked, curious, and honestly somewhat impressed. Another facet of Malcolm Reynolds, another mystery to puzzle over; his obvious education, insight, and occasional unexpected and startling refinement. And yet, she thought, with some mixture of exasperated affection, only he could see a melodrama about a pauper and his courtesan paramour and take it as a commentary on the dangers of her profession.

Of course, he assumed she was being critical. "_And ruin your low opinion of my schooling? Can't have that._" She could imagine his satiric smile, decidedly unfriendly, and then subsequently abandoned to gravity. "_But I do know a message when I hear one. Keep your eyes open_," he cautioned.

Mal was more right than he realized. A shiver of anxiety crept up her spine at the famous introduction: "So here King Shudraka the tale imparts - Of love's pure festival in these two hearts - Of prudent acts, a lawsuit's wrong and hate - A rascal's nature, and the course of fate."

No one seemed to have noticed their conversation, not even the plain clothed and rough looking private security stationed around the building. She gathered a tray of drained wine glasses to bus inside, feeling overexposed. She was more grateful than ever to the Guild, not just for the protection, but the traditional period of training she spent assigned to her house and teachers as a handmaiden.

The other girls from the rings had somewhat harder earned experience. Even in the Councilor's household, there was little comfort to be found from the dreary servant's quarters in the basement, ragged blankets and cots and rat-eaten mattresses arranged around bare grey walls. Some of the girls would not hold eye contact, others had a blank, distant stare, and the most damaged, the youngest in particular, recoiled and cried at the slightest touch. She could see the bite of shackles on their wrists and ankles. She knew what had caused the star-shaped marks over their hearts.

Her hands shook in anger as she set down her tray and plunged the goblets into the sudsy water of the metal dishwashing basin, as she retrieved fresh goblets and a bottle of spirits to take back upstairs. She forced a placid smile back on as she mingled with the party, refilling drinks and observing how all the servants were routinely ignored except for glaring and verbal abuse. In the background, a courtier and the duke Sansthānaka were chasing Vasantasenā, demanding her services.

A crowd had gathered around the Councilor and her guest; merchants concerned about the impact of the blockade on business and admirers of the soldiers seeking marriage as a way off world into core society.

"Nice old Mr. Niska has done business with my family for years, he always had the sweetest peppermints for me. I do hope you catch that Malcolm Reynolds," a pouting debutante in honeyed ringlets and a periwinkle gown declared. Inara couldn't quite place the disconcerting adjective with the torture-happy monster Mal had protected Kaylee from.

Judith just smiled with a knowing condescension. "The man won't be able to hide for long, dear."

Her mind was buzzing with a horrible sense of betrayal as she retreated to an empty space along the banister to think. Judith already knew the Alliance was looking for Mal, and it almost sounded like his capture was the primary condition to lift the travel embargo. Councilor Larrol had always been ambitious, and by helping capture a high profile target she would make governor almost certainly. And there had to be others, looking for a reward or simply for convenience.

The girls were hostages and she was the bait. It was happening all over again. "Women? I kill hundreds of them," Sansthānaka boasted from the stage.

She felt the exact moment Mal's already well-formed suspicions became concrete certainty. "Don't," she pleaded, even as she heard him firing up the shuttle engines for a fly-by and some daring getaway, cursing as he struggled with the start up sequence as usual. She'd leap from the balcony to his waiting arms, and then they'd be killed by close range laser-fire. "The crew needs you Mal." Her eyes searched the other landing pad off in the darkness and wanted it to be only the deepening starlight making her feel so wistful.

"_The crew has Zoë_," he answered, with a finality that caught her breath. Why did he have to be so reckless, so careless with his own life? It frightened her, but she couldn't ignore what it meant.

She had thought he had been acting, hiding his hurt - or trying - like always, the big tough soldier with the sensitive soul. _A courtesan was friend to every youth, as common as a road-side flower. Her body has a price in truth, her beauty has a dower._ She thought he would never forgive her.

All that mattered to him really was her safety. Not the past, not her profession. Just her.

They'd pushed each other away, foolishly trying to protect each other with unkind words neither meant nor believed. A swordfight at dawn, a desperate defense against an Operative. She'd offered her life for his. He'd faced death for her.

If she had to take on an army to keep him from harm, then so be it.

When one of the guards posted nearby pulled her inside with an unpleasant grin, calling her a slave and spouting nonsense about knowing her place and serving her masters, the thug almost withered under her glare. She threw his hands off with a _snap_ and knocked his head against the wall with a high kick, her skirts billowing around her legs like the radiance of a mandala.

For a moment she felt something very near pity as she studied the unconscious man where he laid, crumpled in the space behind a column. She heard her friend Sheydra's voice, teasing but also reproachful, that her training and control were slipping, that she thought and acted too much like Mal.

She was only doing what was right. Besides, she'd always had a little bit of spirit, and it was satisfying sometimes to just let loose or even get herself into and out of trouble. If the slavers had some plans for a waylay, well then. High time to get unruly.


	20. Chapter 19

This chapter gets a little dark, enough that I've decided to boost the rating of my story to Teen. Probably also a little confusing. All I can say is, Thirty Xanatos Pile-up.

Thanks to Platonist and Riona Eire for talking this over with me, and also the cumulative advice of all the people on Fireflyfans in regards to holsters and gun safety and what all Malcolm Reynolds might wear to gear up in an instance with limited options and requiring... subtlety.

* * *

Chapter 19

The array lit up like Christmas when Captain Reynolds got the ignition sequence right, then immediately stuttered off. He tried all the toggles again, insulting the _zá zhǒng wáng bā dàn _machine, the factory line that birthed it, the _wǎng fù xián zhū shǒu_ of a father donated the seed, to no effect.

"_Chù -sheng_!" he ground out, slapping his palm into the control panel, then sagged against it. He couldn't hear her anymore. Radio cut out, or more like she'd switched off just to spite him. No more goddamn banter, not even some flippancy about his performance with the shuttle. Just... "_Tā māde_," he cursed, pushing down the part of him certain that she was dead long enough to think.

The shuttle had not just suddenly developed a will of its own refusing to start up. Another landlock maybe, courtesy of Inara's good friend, and not the official kind that came flashing over the Cortex trumpets and claxons blaring. Something transmitting from this estate they could shut down. Kaylee would have a work-around, have to wait for them to get back before they could take off anyhow, which meant he was going on foot. Couldn't fly out to her, he sure as hell could bring her back.

She'd be expecting the shuttle so he'd find her either on the roof or out on the terrace. Satisfied with his plan, he shrugged on his trustworthy coat - risk though it was, no way he was going without it - then checked his side-arm, shoved it back into his holster, and dusted out.

- - - -  
Zoë crouched down, deep brown eyes scanning the landscape and not for the flowers, just a routine habit to occupy her time while her thoughts wandered. The ever-alert tension, always ready for action, was something that was part of her, an undercurrent running beneath her conscious thoughts that she couldn't ever turn off.

There was some armed security about twenty yards down the garden pathway, shifting and jangling gear giving away a telling lack of discipline as they stood on guard. Not Alliance, no, she could pick out one of them in her sleep. The man hadn't the foggiest notion anyone was nearby, thanks to the night and the leafy growth between them, but even if he'd eaten a frilly fern seed and turned invisible, Zoë would've known. She always did. There were times Mal used to tell the new recruits that her abilities bordered on the nigh supernatural, and sometimes she wondered if he believed it himself. She let them have their ideas about her; if it comforted the mind to know she was out there somewhere, slitting throats, then at least that was something real they could hold on to.

Strange, the number of times they'd been on watch together like this, sergeant and corporal, and later on _Serenity_'s bridge looking out at the stippled black. They'd spent so much time operating on the same wavelength, only to find themselves in such different places now, him in the shuttle with Inara, her out here. With a dead husband and a child that would never know a father, and a girl heartbroke over a _shǎ guā_ doctor.

She glanced back her, working mechanically at an open circuit box off a substation, the usual joy of getting to play with something and ply her trade muted. It was hard to stay angry with Kaylee, and it tugged on her more than it should but she couldn't stand watching them all just keep losing.

Her hand ran self-consciously over the slight bulge at her middle.

They'd given Inara long enough, time for them all to get. "Now," Zoë directed, and Kaylee threw the breaker, which obliged with a crackle of electricity. On the other side of the estate, the lights darkened to a nervous murmur of party guests. The other woman would know it was them, and have enough sense to take advantage of the situation.

As they crept back to the shuttle, the former soldier put out her arm and stopped Kaylee, warning her with a look to keep hush. She drew her mare's leg and cast a quick look inside, then a longer one. With a long sigh, she stood up fully and waved the other girl in.

Kaylee surveyed the cabin, like the captain might jump out from behind a bolt or nail to surprise them. She eventually returned her attention to Zoë, her expression confused and curious. An explosion rocked the night air some distance away from the direction of the manor. Well, that was one mystery solved. Only inevitable, she supposed, and locked her her exasperation at the captain and Inara down behind a flick of hard eyes and a grim look.

There were few times that Zoë had her loyalty and sense of duty tested, or torn between two courses of action. Sometimes, when it was personal, couldn't blame a body for acting only in the way to be expected of them. When something was theirs, beyond the chain of command. She had chosen Wash over Mal when she could, and never regretted it. Ultimately there was an understanding, that she did what she had to do sometimes, and it was for her alone.

Mal had made his choices, same as her, and just like on Niska's skyplex that time, when she'd had to walk away from him, she knew what he expected of her. To take care of the crew and everything else. One here and two back with the ship, and Jayne nowhere to be found but plenty sure he was off with the hovermule. Two off in the mansion in sure danger, and her acutely aware of a second heartbeat. It was up to them.

- - - -  
They'd caught her soon after they found the first guard. Seven of them, mercenaries who had broken the Jayne Cobb standards of excellence in the worst ways possible. Verminous, grubby, hirsute, porcine, and all of them capable of even more unwholesome countenance. They surrounded her and caught hold of her upper arm, as though she couldn't merely shrug them off, then, more seriously, thrust the muzzle of an automatic rifle against her temple.

Forcing her to move, occasionally jostling her to demonstrate their masculinity and smirking with cruel merriment, they escorted her from the polished decor of the upper hall into the bare stone wall-space of the servants passages. Despite the danger she held herself with as much dignity as possible, careful to keep her own smile off her face.

Of course they were underestimating her. She had happened upon the coat room for the celebration first, which also happened to include weapons confiscated from some of the soldiers.

Then they pushed her through an open panel, wainscotted in imported oak, and her confidence diminished considerably at the first sight of the business man in the room beyond, apparently waiting for her. Very smooth he looked, yet grim; especially because of the knife he was holding on a small child, the girl on tip toes to accommodate her arm pulled to a severe height, fingers clenched into her wrist. Her dark skin looked bruised and lacerated, breath wheezing from her throat, and her wide eyes were terribly unfocused and lost. She hung limply from her captor's grip, like an abused doll.

His well-tailored suit clashed with his dangerously calculating expression, the coarse dressings the councilor had chosen for the room. An insult, she realized; everything around him was torn apart, from the canopy bed to the broken glass on the floor in retaliation. "This is all the they could manage?" he wondered, a voice like rich wine soured. A breeze billowed through the curtains, sweet garden air that carried a slight chill with it. She found herself trying to move to the girl, to help and comfort somehow, and was rudely dragged back to reality by one of the mercenaries. The man, his eyes narrowing, pressed the knife harder against his hostage's neck. "No, that's close enough, I think."

One of his brutes swept the companion's black waves from her shoulders and smelled her, burying his whiskered face into the side of her neck and chuckling when she finally managed to twist away. The tallest mercenary tugged her arm hard towards him, almost wrenching it. "Where do you want her?" he asked gruffly, his attention straying to the mattress.

Their boss rolled his eyes. "Yes, I should bed the would-be-assassin. This is why I didn't hire any of you for your advice." Assassin? The other men laughed as she started to struggle. He appraised her. "I do, however, pay you to kill people," he commented, matter of fact, and their amusement took on a more menacing edge. "Pity the Alliance are here, we have to be on our best behaviour. We can only discipline our workers." He lifted the little girl higher, and she whimpered in pain. "Accidents do happen, though."

Inara quickly calmed herself. He was just trying to get under her skin, toy with her before he followed through on his threat. She stood up to him, resolute and with folded arms and an implacable glare.

He frowned at her in disbelief. "What's this? No impassioned speech for the downtrodden? No desperate plea, 'Oh, please save the children, take me instead'? No list of grievances, about how I killed your family and sold your virginity?" He waited a few moments more, then shrugged and snapped his fingers at his thugs.

The lights cut out, and Inara knew better than to think it was coincidence. Blessed Kaylee! She was going to hug that girl and buy her chocolate covered strawberries every day for the rest of her life.

Confused, the seven guards let her go, like bloodhounds already searching for a new, different threat. "You _are_ the assassin, aren't you?" their boss inquired, sounding less certain, perhaps for the only time in his entire life. She took advantage of the darkness, primed the concussive device she had hidden under her tongue, and expelled at the slaver her full anger and contempt.

It bounced at his feet, cracked open, and between her and them a brilliance exploded, with wrath like the glare of lightning even through her eyelids, ringing with thunder, like a storm of sunlight. She heard the cries of the girl under their screams and yells and ran for her, rushing amid the clouded splendour to gather her up then turn into the wind for the open window.

"No, but I am," a young, high voice called out behind her, leaping down from some concealment into the fray.

- - - -  
Gavril flew from the cloth canopy, like the sweep of an eagle's wings and vengeful slashing talons, stabbing downwards with his knives. Even with the help of gravity he couldn't put much force behind the blows, but with the hatred he carried for this man, this tormentor, he hoped he could make up for their difference in size.

He could barely remember a time before his captivity, a bright spot of peace and tranquility, now replaced by the horsewhip scars down his bare back. He'd had a family, once, a mother, a father, sisters. Under the lash, family was what you could make of it, who you could get to look out for you. Always was the terrible threat of loss, of overwork, starvation, dying in torture or being sold off one-by-one. To cope, they resorted to teasing each other, made light of the hell, made up nicknames so they could forget they were each once a person with another life.

And as the light from the flashbang waned, and he saw the wicked calm face of Shoshenk, he saw that same cold emotionless monster watching every rise and fall of the scourge, every electric shock that ripped through his small frame. And he gritted his teeth so hard that one of his molars chipped, and raised his knives again.

Shoshenk gazed down at him a moment, a tiny terror that had suddenly appeared before him, then reached up, over his shoulder, to feel the rivulet down his back, and stare at his red hands. His _yla'an_ bloodstained hands.

They had taught him to be fast; where he could not get by as a slave he learned how thieve on the side. To sneak and hide, and he was good at it, enough that the old bastard used him now and then for his dirty work.

His speed worked for him now. Before Shoshenk could recover, he was on him again, kicking off a knee for leverage, stabbing more, more still into the torso of the slaver boss, staining that so important suit, trying to do as much damage as possible.

Shoshenk, not a strong man or a big man, was still able to send him flying into the floor with a backhand. He willed himself to his feet again, and Shoshenk surged forward, one hand around his throat and crushing him to the unforgiving wall behind him. "They sent a _pup_ to kill me? It was better when I thought they sent a woman."

He still had one knife in his hand, and he drove it into that rotten black heart as deep as he could. For a long moment, the snarl remained on Shoshenk's face, menacing, and he let out a hiss, blood rising to his mouth, even as his arms when slack and they slid to the ground. Gavril kicked him off and stood, triumphant over the body. "That was for my brothers," he said, sure they would be proud of him.

Almost from a distance, he heard the retort of gun fire, felt the searing pain along his spine. It occurred to him, with sudden clarity, that he was about to die. He hadn't lived for very long, had spent most of it not knowing freedom. Now he would never run on the grasslands around his home village again, never rough house again with Arim or Ras, or play around on the rooftops and make himself a nuisance for the priests.

His only regret was he could only give his life once. He grabbed the single grenade from his belt, and pulled the pin. "And this," he shouted, "is for-!"

"The _Bûmelerze_," River finished. She blinked and another soul found its way to _Serenity_, guided by the dark eyes of the three fairy queens. The roar of the fallen lions faded. Everything was quiet and still.

She could hear the people sing.


	21. Chapter 20

This was a hard chapter to write, mostly because there's a lot of stuff I've had come up over the last month or so that's kept me from working on it. It's also disappointingly short, because I had a bunch of ideas I was excited about and hoping I could really dig into and explore, but it didn't turn out that way.

I think I have just about everyone to thank for this one. I know I talked to Riona about it, and I also had Platonist and AnotherSky look at it. I also drew a lot of inspiration from AnotherSky's Albatross diaries, which are crazy River-speak but fascinating literature.

* * *

Eidolon 20

Jayne Cobb had a lot of grit behind him. He'd breathed it as a boy, bounty hunting for varmints around the spaceport where his folks lived, the soot from the old factories thick enough that it fell like snow – in inches. If you weren't strong and didn't watch yourself, or didn't have someone looking after you, way you ended up was shanked behind the speakeasy or conscripted for the ring fights. Kind of place where you grew up fast or died young.

Most people wouldn't think it to look at him, but he had his fetters same as everyone else. Had a kid brother to look after, sickly sort, born wrong on account of the air. His pa used to say both his sons been poisoned, but that made no sense to him.

Never really seen eye to eye_,_ even when he'd caught up in height. The old man had a stubborn and old fashioned streak. Kept him in his nowhere job metalworking, off and on because of his bad arm always flaring up from that old lathe tweaked him the once. Man was well liked, friendly with just about everyone on the docks, but closed off too. Cared for the family in his own way, though they never had much, so Jayne was running with the gangs before he'd gone through the mill. Almost come to blows a few times over his peccancy and mama had to come between them.

Then there came a month they couldn't scrape together for Mattie's medicine. He'd messed up a job trying to earn some cash, and hidden out with some of his girls he'd befriended. Turned out they'd been playing him for a while, knocked him out and tied him up for the thugs to fetch back to the boss. Was his own pa pulled him out of the brothel, and went to settle up on his behalf. Told Jayne to get off world, so he took his money with him and went mercenary. No loyalty to anyone, except when there was.

He was about ready to shake the dust from Ezra off his boots too. Driving over miles of dunes under moonlight, blowing cigar smoke to the wind hadn't eased his temper any over them being stuck and being broke and all the dramatics. The longer they spent here, the worse his brother was getting. Only one of those he had any say in, and, as he flicked away the stub, he thought he was going to enjoy this.

- - - - -  
An airy stream flowed like an arm reaching down her throat, filling and to clench, in pulses, renewed cardiac rhythm. She pulled back, back to _Serenity_ with life gasping through her, the third eye shuttered tight and the other two opened wide. She'd gone too far, almost followed over into the silent place.

Her shadow stared back into her, standing on the opposite side, and she gave name to her fear. The vultures had taken her aspect, over and over, preyed with peering eyes to unweave the rainbow, until tender illusion melted and left only the other. _The flavour of mortality in lies. _Take care peeling back the folded layers of a person, lest what you learn comes back to haunt you.

Would she recognize herself now, years later, the girl who had gone willingly into promised greatness? They sliced out too much, made the sieve oversized. A golem made of sand, scattering to the wind. She expected that she would crumble away soon, not enough essence left over to substantiate, and her reflection would wander off without her.

She struck out at the phantom girl, stolen from her, palm and fingers spreading onto the hard barrier. Cool glass under her hand meant to withstand micrometeoroids cut at her, shards of a memory broken by screaming demons. Carefully, fascinated, she traced fracture lines like fate-spun silk thread, repaired like a spider's home. Grief, frosted over by necessity.

"_That _is_ my wife you're metaphorizin'."_ She turned and gazed out from the space, perched on the bridge of _Serenity_'s nose with the transparent shield at her back. The pilot's chair was lounging behind the nav console, plastic dinosaurs like honour guards for the monument. _"She does have some fantastic legs, but last I checked, only two of them."_

Eyes squinted up at the contradiction. Some structures were stubborn, insisted on the same descriptions when namesakes were no longer applicable. The chair did not contain the pilot anymore. Somehow at the same time nothing was ever empty, not the expanse between worlds, not the quietus of crewmate. All of it, everything breath and movement and sentiment. A stream of consciousness, a river she couldn't tell where she began and it ended. "Arms count," she informed him, factoring in the tiny female growing in his darker half, "number of limbs are sufficient."

"_I should hope so,"_ he agreed, like a brush of sunlight and blue skies long gone, and winsome frowns for the missed and missing. _"Mal's got Zoë in trouble again."_ Inevitable, the captain's one true talent. _"This seein' all at the same time is a trip, and not the good kind."_

Several pasts and futures wavered. "It gets very confusing," she answered. "Black is white and I can't tell where the colours bleed together." She didn't know who or what she was talking about anymore. Time to leave. "They'll be back soon," she told the figment, because it was polite, just in case he was real.

The pilot waved at her, or imagination did. She wasn't sure because she didn't look, because he needed to be here, because they were incomplete, and because the thoughts from the bridge were focused on reunion now and were _sweaty_.

Descent into chaos. The air circulating in _Serenity_'s windpipe was choked with emotion. First were the undaunting opposites, the simple moods of the beast and the optimism of friends and lovers, but from there, complication. Promises like the tie of a leather cord, with racing heart beats and calming whispers from the too-large room on the left almost drowned out by disciplined endurance and fresh anguish. The negatives resonated with the storm from the bleakest quarters, weary determination with silver linings on the wane. She passed quickly through the exigent grey and other possibilities, drawn to the glow of the galley like Titania on her lunescent wings.

Smiles and idyllic recollections rushed in to fill the cold, and not just from honeyed walls with friendly touch in garden stencils. This was where they gathered, for cards and mahjong, for downtime in homely furnished alcove, for bonding over meals. There was warmth in each mismatched chair, ingrained in the wood, the table. The heart and the stomach were one and the same, the chef won over as easily as the diners.

The shepherd man made this his own, flock and field, more even than the old lion's den where the white mane ran feral. Home and family, the first ever in a long life of mistrust and violence. Where he was accepted secrets and all, more even than the abbey, and, he worried, was understood too well.

She joined the levity, aimless chatter and clatter of plates passed around and around. Climbed onto one of the eights pews arranged around the bookkeeper, hands clasped around knees. "In this world you will have tribulation," she intoned, peering through the veil.

The room calmed, settled, and turned attention to her. _"You've been reading John,"_ the preacher praised, but she waited and saw the revelation. _"Ah. This is one of your riddles."_ No shrinking or dimming. He was genuine still, despite what he had been before. _"But it is through tribulation that we enter the Kingdom of Heaven,"_ he countered, quoting the acts of the horseman instead.

His troubles had brought him and four thousand others only fire. "That's what your book says," she challenged.

"_That's because it's true."_ He spread his arms to embrace the present. _"Took some getting used to, but after all I've been through, I never thought I'd end up in a place like this. There's good people here, even if some of them don't know it yet."_ He'd had to learn himself. Wasn't easy. Or painless. Like a knife, subtle edge cutting through the world.

"This isn't heaven," she told him sadly.

A glimpse of remorse and worry, there and covered. _"I know. Ain't sure even how to get there,"_ he admitted. There'd been no cherubim, no amber whirlwind splitting open the sky to light the path. _"Or where I'm going from here." _

Stuck in limbo, uncertain whether to inferno or to glory. Life indistinguishable from death or fiction, stretching out to anchors just as adrift. Blowing leaves, a gnarled weapon in deadly pale hands, destructive constructs grasping for solace, and never reached. The remnants of an impression scattered. "To gather," she answered, and hoped, because she didn't know either.

Some gratitude followed her, itched along the walls down to the engine room, buzzing with activity before, lonely now and missing mechanics and abandoned by brightness. Have to restore the connection, even if too late.

She turned away, comfort encased in ice, took the back way along the harsh-lit fears, tinted in cold blue. Sorting, always sorting, already chemical-smell and sterile, and the hands grabbed her and pulled back into the operating chair, needles everywhere and minds prodding and only Simon to rescue her. She did not linger in the waiting area, and forayed into the cavern.

Expansive like metal on the colour of stone, cleaned up and packed away the ruins of old lives. Here is where the beginnings were, and endings. Preserve the bodies long enough they could be buried. There was a portal here, between the black and the air that needed opening. The beating of hearts were pounding like drums on the steel wall of Jericho.

She found the gunman instead. "Hey looney," he accosted, insensate but for himself, foot falls ringing like alarm at the entry. "How's the attic?"

"Mothy," she replied. And froze, paralyzing condition as vague malice formed into scheme.

_The forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness._ When they made their newest monster, it was of upmost importance that they were in control. Their obsession, their motivation. Even when it was spiraling out of their hands, gobbling them all up, the secret biting on their ankles, lizards and snakes harrying these thieves. They'd hooked her, points tearing into her as they strung her up and made her dance. And when they were afraid she might break free of their leash, they sent her back to nightmares with a thought and a sentence, no defense against either.

"Ain't that a gorramn sumbitch," he answered, and watched, then shrugged. Still wrong. "Worth a shot."

Her champion heard the chains unlock. Loyal Simon who hadn't forgotten her, refused to abandon her, gave up everything for her. The unheard command lingered, incomplete, and left her unable to intervene. Yet something was different. The truth would set her free. She was not the weapon. "River? Don't go outside, or let anyone – Jayne." Immediate suspicion. "Where is everyone else? Why are you back already?"

Anger slammed into jaw. Her brother stumbled, time solidifying around them like pitch to swallow dust and dirt laden rays from above. The hard shining lines of steel brace sharpened. Faster now, the pace picking up, blurring, and the future as ever seeable but not knowable. They go to die, or to live, and the house might collapse but for words. They will all go together.


	22. Chapter 21

Another short one just to advance plot. It was going to be longer, but as I looked at this I realized that these two sections work thematically well together. Thanks to Platonist and AnotherSky again.

Also, at some point I need to figure out how to fix Word. I've been having to draft chapters in some odd and unusual programs, and I think the formatting keeps getting screwed up through nothing of my doing.

* * *

Chapter 21

They ran like the demons and djinn were chasing them; stumbled, but didn't stop, even as an explosion rocked the shaken world of the elite and riches fell to ruin. His friend shouted, defiant, calling for the already lost and gone. Hoping against reason, and running towards gunfire.

None of Shoshenk's guards noticed the two teenagers, and why would they? They were too busy fleeing. The underworld was used to upheavals, even under Niska. Their boss presumed dead, the guards had little reason to linger. A couple of ragged _yatim _did not warrant much attention, not compared to a regiment of Alliance soldiers that would be looking for convenient scapegoats.

Behind them, party guests still out on the balcony were quickly becoming disorderly and agitated, demanding to know what was going on. They ignored the turmoil, passing suites, fallen masterpieces and shattered ceramics around overturned pedestals. The hallway looked like a war zone, for once resembling the city not three miles distant.

The door had been blown off it's hinges; blackened, pitted with shrapnel, still smoking, not much different from the state of the room it had come from. There actually wasn't much blood; usually, there never was. Burns, mostly, some shrapnel wounds. There was a swirl of it, splattered on the hardwood, that led them to the small huddled shape that was once their scout. The boy laid twisted, bones broken, ribs crushed, one of his arms ending in tattered shreds.

Roach. They thought that he'd live through anything, small enough and young enough that he could hide from this, escape when it was all over. That they could keep him from getting involved.

When they'd found him during their own escape, they released him from the cage where he'd been kept like a mad dog, and, weak from abuse, the boy had tried to attack them. Niska had trained him as a thief and an assassin; it was all he had known. Gavril, messenger of God. It had taken them months to get past the snarling wild child. For him to realize he had a new chance at life and innocence.

In return there was profound gratitude and loyalty for family and home, a fierce protectiveness. But what was done to the boy, the trauma and the violence, had stayed with him. There was no understanding that this life had any worth or meaning beyond the welfare of those around him, a sense that it would be taken away at any time. Terror, that he would lose them, that one day, what he was, what he couldn't change, would be released upon them, and all he could do to stop it was to keep finding other battles.

"Why did you do that?" the older brother asked, dejected. "Why didn't you wait for us?" They had always been closest, always been the most alike. They were both fighters.

The soldiers would come looking for them at any time. Unable to watch any longer, the other boy began searching the other bodies, and came upon Shoshenk. Never a more deserving bastard for the wrath of justice, the slaver boss had earned each of those wounds, and more. With some distaste, and trying to stay his hand from further revenge, he prepared to move on to the hired thugs, then spotted a glint of something in the inside pocket of the suit jacket.

A remote, for the slave microchips.

They told themselves that it wasn't for nothing, that the sacrifice had saved all of them. And as they gathered the body for a proper burial, wrapping it in one of the burnt bed sheets, they tried to find some elusive comfort in their belief, as fleeting as the life that had assured them.

- - - -  
He was one acquainted with flame. Sure as fire born of starlight gave life, death was marked on and around him like a blazing omen in the sky. He'd seen angels aflame come to scorch and purify, and at some point he had offended God in a night sky over Hera and Shadow, with only the heat of his anger left over from the exchange. Known desire, sometimes all-consuming, elsewise blossoming fancy. Been leaning towards being eaten up by it of late, ashes to ashes and all. Dying in pieces. Or maybe it was hell just couldn't wait for him.

What she was, he didn't fully have words for; a woman who shared their meals, and a spirit who haunted his dreams. The first gleamed sight of her she'd appeared to him looking and smelling like something divine, seemingly just to torture him with some reachy hope and frustration, ifs and maybes wrapped up in silk. She was Keat's Psyche, meant for someone and something higher, the work of an artist. Charcoal outlining soft curves and softer curls, shining in her eyes, until the breath of some sweet wind stirred the embers of her soul and she'd stepped off the page.

"_Don't be blown up_," he thought, in a way he told himself was entirely unlike a prayer. Not that he had much say; by his rotten luck and cosmic irony she'd be part of that blast, and the woman never did respect his command. He swatted away a palm leaf, growing more irritated every step. Here he was dodging regimentals off the paths of some flowery false paradise, climbing the Hesperides. Even if she were okay, he doubted he'd find her on the _empty _balcony the near side of the manor, away from the larcenists and debauchers - not all of them being Alliance soldiers or aristocrats.

He stood below that still darkened east veranda, looking up, searching. Damn.

_"Captain?"_

His right hand's voice when he was considering his next move was almost expected it was so familiar, but not so much when she wasn't anywhere nearby. Eventually he remembered his radio and the shared frequency with _Serenity _and the shuttles. "Zoë," he responded. "They've grounded all craft out here. Have Kaylee check things over, so we can leave soon as we're able."

_"No problems here, Cap'n,"_his mechanic reported, some manner of half-truth, her normal cheerfulness subdued.

Kaylee's trick with the power must have shut down the landlock. He leaned around the corner to confirm the position of the soldiers that had been seated around the makeshift stage. They were backlit only by the colorful stage spotlights from the acting troupe's transport, disorganized, still arguing about whether to evacuate the guests to their vessels or hole up inside. The players were looking apprehensive, probably not too different from the party guests. "Good, make sure it stays that way. We may have company soon."

_"Inara?"_ Zoë sounded even grimmer than usual. On rare occasion he'd like if Zoë wasn't so full of insight, that she didn't know him so well. That he wasn't aware of her disapproval and her anger. They never had any need for minced words between them, and Mal felt a pang for her amid his own concerns, a memory from when he thought they were all heading off to their doom. _He ain't coming_.

"Don't know," he admitted. He heard and hated the way his throat caught on that, the way the words sank back down, into his chest, his stomach, heavy like leaden bullets.

"_We'll be here, sir_," was all she could offer, her own losses weighing on her. Then his first mate was gone, off his channel, the click of a gun safety taken off. Years side to side and back to back, the two of them dragging each other through the trenches. And sometimes there still was nothing they could do or say for each other. Things that just couldn't be made right, wouldn't ever be right.

The show had stopped right around the point where the penniless hero finds his lady admirer and helps her escape from her pursuers, hides her in his house. Here he was contemplating how to break in, like the evil duke to confront them. Maybe he could shoot out a window.

Maybe Inara was right about his gorramn plans. Sure hadn't done any of them any favours. Always seemed to end up getting them in deeper. Book hadn't even been with them and was punished anyway, and Wash shouldn't ever have been in that chair up against Reavers and Alliance. He'd taken Inara out of the training house to put her in a near last stand, gotten her shot not a month later, and now that she was back first thing he did was get her involved in whatever this was. Bunch of _sh__ēngchùfèn_. Was all they could do to keep swimming.

And why did it smell like a barn out here, anyway? No wonder it was the Councilor had no visitors out on this side. Nearby was a wrought lattice outbuilding under the cypress canopy, full of a rainbow of critters could raise a ruckus, some camels, birds, monkeys. And next to the largest stall, there were three white andalusians with braided manes and crimped tails shining in the dark. They were a mite jittery from the noise of the explosion, he could tell. Pale blue eyes watched him warily before each of them, slowly and in order, swung their attention down to their provender with perked up ears at him.

He broke the lock on the gate and went for the tack hung up on the stable posts. An apple brought their heads back up, this time with hungry interest. He bribed the big mare into a halter bridle and led her outside, and swung himself up behind the withers. Stealth never had been his strong point anyway.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22  
The first indication Inara had that she was still alive was the ringing in her ears, or rather, not just her ears. Jumping through a window with a passenger to evade a grenade, only to be thrown to the floor of an outdoor arcade around the second story, she had a new and interesting insight on how every particle of metal in a gong might feel. Her skin stung from the sandstone, her side was sore where she had cushioned their impact, her thoughts were dizzy and sluggish. As she stirred, shivering from the night chill, her eyes could barely focus and had to adjust to the diffuse and dancing moonlight.

Her pulse quickened; somehow they had survived. She hugged the tiny frame of the former slave girl closer in short lived relief.

As her mind caught up, she raised herself on one arm, alarmed, wincing at the pain. There was not a sound from the room they had escaped from, nothing of the boy who had saved them. She looked back into the room, then quickly looked away.

The girl, was she all right? Inara smoothed her hand over the child's forehead, who was fighting to stay conscious, beautiful black skin smeared with blood and smoke. On the surface, the companion was trying to remain calm and soothing. In her heart, a desperate instinct that sounded like her mother was trying not to panic. "You're safe now, sweetie, stay with me," she pleaded.

Inara set the girl down and began to tear strips of flimsy fabric from her skirts - _gauze_, she thought, slightly hysterical. She had seen entirely too much injury of late, back on _Serenity_ nearly every week was another surgery or bullet removal, and she knew first aid so well that the motions were now almost automatic from repetition. _It's not enough,_ she realized as her patient continued to wane, and gathered up the tiny limp form again, struggled to her feet, one hand buried in the short frizz at the back of the child's head. _She needs a doctor_.

She stumbled from column to column, passing through dark then silver until she couldn't tell anymore if she was still moving, or if her own awareness was merely drifting away from her and back. The ground swayed under her, the light and shadows shifting. She was failing, only determination keeping her upright, keeping one foot in front of the other as she focused on the end of the archway. She could hear voices, and she moved toward them.

There was some lapse in time before she recognized that she was out on the balcony with the party guests, and even then it was more of a vague sense than anything clear or substantial. There were people everywhere, jostling her, and it was so noisy, none of them interested in stopping for an injured child. They were herding everyone inside, and she knew on some level that wasn't where she wanted to go. She began fighting her away against the flow, drawn towards the balustrade, the gardens, the starry skies beyond. The captain was out there somewhere, searching for her. She needed to get back to _Serenity_.

"Inara." She turned before she could think it through. That wasn't what Mal sounded like, not from her communicator, which wasn't on anyway. The councilor was there, in black dress and pearls; Judith, frowning at her in disappointment. Her favourite client, because she hadn't known any better, about the councilor's family, about the slaves, about how she had only been a business transaction. "Here you are, covered in soot, and my guest room exploded," Judith sighed.

She clutched the girl closer. "I didn't..."

"I know," the councilor interrupted. "It's not your style. Either of you, despite what your captain did to my fence." Judith reached out pensively to the child, as though she had any right, considering what she had been part of, the suffering of the slaves. Inara recoiled with the child, just out of range of touch. The councilor's hand dropped, her face a mask, tinged with some regret. "You aren't terrorists, and Ezra will never be free from outsider control."

The crowd had thinned around them, but she was surrounded again, marines in black armor and helmets moving in from the sides. One pulled the little girl from her, another grabbed her arm as she surged after them, a futile attempt to protect the child.

"I'm sorry, Inara," Judith said, and then the councilor was flanked by two terrifying agents in black suits and blue gloves.

She wasn't sure what it was, but there was something familiar about this, a danger she had been warned about, a near escape that she couldn't recall for the roar of her headache. All she knew was that she wanted to get away from them as far and fast as she could. They were nightmares, haunting screams from the back hallway in a hospital, apparitions amid a broken battlefield of ghost ships. Inhuman. Unreal. Wrong. Dragging their victims down into the depths they emerged from, smothering any cries for help.

Inara barely heard the marshals as they informed her she was bound by law, but she heard the gunshot that followed. In the ensuing chaos, search, and raised weapons, she was released, and ran, _scrambled _for the balcony. The agents began to move after her, one of them withdrawing a curious silver wand from the inside of his jacket. Realizing their mistake, the soldiers called for her to stop or they'd fire. Moments later, they did, the lasers passing just over her head as she fell in a flutter of nebulous white trimming.

- - - -  
Mal caught her, somehow. The horse let out a startled squeal and chose that moment to rear up, like a still-smoking barrel pointed skyward. But he managed to juggle the reins around his gun hand, get his sidearm back holstered. Then some divine and frazzled-looking creature tumbled into his arms. "Take me home," she requested.

"Bossy woman," he complained, or tried to, though he supposed maybe the quick _shǎ táo __zuì _smile he couldn't keep from his face might undermine the gruffness somewhat. At any rate he could almost forget she'd nearly injured him again, and was torn between forgiving her and admiring her. She was impossible. A tangle of normally immaculate styled midnight waves and scanty dress out of a costumer's trunk, had around her all the perfume of a bonfire, and none of that mattered because he was holding her. If he was squeezing harder than was strictly necessary, it was only to keep both their balance as he settled her side-saddle. He figured she would push him away any second, but he allowed himself that much.

Her own embrace tightened around him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. And when he was no longer stupefied, some sense of reality and foreboding began to return to him.

She gave no other response, not even to quip that his domineering self was one to talk. Like months before, when her lack of fight was his best warning, he understood; things were gone wrong. Even if just having her near him had a warmth like relief swelling through him, they had a garrison of Alliance within waving distance of them and their guise was blown. They needed to hightail.

Their getaway had about the same idea. The hooves pawing at the air clattered to the ground, and the horse didn't need much encouragement beyond a snap of the reins to dart off down the cobbled path. The movement jerked him out of the moment. Time sped back up with them, glowing red bolts tracking them as they went, through dewy fans of leaves and blossoms that seemed to burst into mist as they passed.

He was not without plan, even if others were like to say different. His involved the elephantine and currently much irate beast lashed to the jambs under their sharpshooters heels, presumably left for the easy loading of party guests. All he had to do was goad some acts of wanton mayhem and convenient distraction. The regular tomfoolery, that never failed, but his karma took some issue with.

The Councilor's elephant went rogue at the metal gadfly nearly stung its ear. Trumpeted like the apocalypse come and took it's tether with it, bringing a good part of the balcony and the infantry crashing down.

Any other occasion he might've thought it was funny. There was something, an undercurrent of the night that had him uneasy, a notion that the situation was worse than he'd figured. Cautions unsaid were fine, but she hadn't even expressed alarm over his actions, and she never had a shortage of insults for him or his half-cocked stunts.

"'Nara," he muttered, and shifted her a little, trying to snap her out of it but carefully, so as not to unbalance them as they rode. He repeated himself, insistent. "'Nara. C'mon, darlin'. 'Nara."

This silence was something new. Maybe just exhaustion, or the adrenaline. And he didn't believe that for a second. He pressed his heels into the horse's side, urging more speed, curling himself around her to ride lower, faster. There was a chill working over his skin, into his veins, past worry and closing in on desperate. As the sounds and shouts over of several tons of fractious elephant grew more distant there was a quiet like muffled fog that fell over him. The evening in echoes, indistinct, except for the rolling thunder of their full gallop, drowned out only by the pounding in his ears. Rhythmic, rocking with each stride as he drove their steed onwards. Towards _Serenity_, freedom, safety.

Zoë's sawn-off barked out, shattering the spell-like focus as he was grazed in the shoulder, right where his coat was patched before. Ambush. Should've seen it coming.

He slowed the animal to a stop just short of the shuttle landing pad, hidden not very well in some of the meager garden cover, their shiny white horse like a beacon in the dark. He dismounted to a crouch, kept his head down. Had just enough time to slip the bridle and bit off, an old habit from earlier years, before he had to rush back to Inara as she slumped over and near slid bodily to the ground.

She was slack and pale, her head awkwardly thrown back over his arm where she'd collapsed, still breathing, the air passing between her parted lips. Like the spirit that carried her snuffed out, like the empty black bereft of stars, her lashes low and her gaze unseeing.

The sight seized him something awful; a scene out of nightmare recurring, final moments he'd witnessed throughout his life flashing by in rapid succession. His free hand moved to brush her cheek without permission, tilted her chin back towards him, then hovered, shaken, over her eyelids to close them. What she'd felt he couldn't tell, whether pain or sadness, accusation or acceptance, whether she was already lost to him. But he knew, with a bleak, hollow rage, that this was his fault again.

He'd told himself that he knew what was between her and his medic. Because that secret the doctor wouldn't tell him, confronted in a dirt tunnel like a sepulchre after waking, because that terrible hour she'd fainted and wouldn't revive until he'd carried her to her shuttle, there was a truth there that was better to deny. She'd had men, many of them, younger and more pleasing than him, and he'd clung to that like hope, because the alternative was she was here, her life fading as he watched, leaking out through whatever it was in her that had finally broken. He'd give his blood for her, without a second thought, but couldn't protect her from this. Not any more than from the sunburst mark just over her heart, left from the stray bullet that had him forcing her off his ship a month before.

Inara wanted to go back to Sihnon, then one way or another he'd get her there. He started to lift her, then spun and drew on a black-garbed soldier skulking towards them. He frowned. "You shot me," he accused, lowering his gun.

His second in command didn't seem nearly troubled enough by the fact, or how she was wearing the uniform off an Alliance guard. She shouldered her shotgun. "Plausible deniability," she shrugged. He tried to read from his first mate if her latest wardrobe was the result of already having a run-in with the patrols, though he really didn't have to ask. There wasn't any where else she could've gotten the armour. They could be surrounded, reinforcements arriving by the minute or plunging from the sky in _Serenity_ and not a chance in _di yu_, and Zoë would still be the picture of calm.

"Denia - You _shot _me," he insisted, highly offended. He transferred his piece back to his side, gathered up Inara. Zoë looked aside at the fallen woman, and he shook his head; he didn't want to say, and couldn't have answered her anyhow. He could see searchlights like fireflies off in the bushes, getting closer. "Kaylee got us ready to go?"

At the affirmative, he ran for the shuttle hatch like his life depended on it while Zoë followed, laying down suppressive fire.

- - - - -  
Zoë pulled off her helmet and tossed it aside, took a breath like fresh air. Damn things were uncomfortable, and there was an electrical hum running through them that could drive a person to distraction.

Some of her building aggression traded for urgency. She watched Mal settle with Inara against the slant of the hull, and felt as though she was witnessing the final moments between herself and Wash from the outside. Inara looked like a porcelain doll, more fragile even through the contrast of their lifestyles than the career soldier could imagine. The captain seemed at a loss of what to do, somewhere between wanting to try to shake the woman awake and hold onto her like a drowning man.

Kaylee hovered off to the side, caught off guard by their arrival, carrying some conflict in her still. Her hazel eyes were wide. "What's wrong with her?" she asked, sounding like she wasn't sure if she should be glad to see them, worried, or nursing her upset.

The captain didn't answer. "Zoë, take us out of here," he ordered instead, unable to look away or leave Inara. "Kaylee, need any tricks you've got to keep us hidden."

- - - -  
The wooden timbers of the ruined deck seemed to groan in pain as Captain Baker leaned over the edge of the hole. He had pulled the rest back, in some cases not metaphorically, and mentally he was reviewing just how much paperwork this debacle was going to require. Perhaps he'd avoid mentioning that their target escaped on horseback like something out of one of those dreadful cortex dramas; he was having trouble believing it had just happened himself.

"Somebody _shoot_ the bastard already," the soldier he was helping demanded, annoyed, and then managed to get off a couple charges as punctuation from her precarious position.

Quietly he agreed, but the Blue Sun agents weren't about to make things easy. They stood to the side, completely unaffected by the chaos and the cries for help from the destruction. "Captain, please remind your people that the target is to be captured alive."

He grunted and dragged the spitfire out of the breach the rest of the way, under no illusions that the two spooks would explain why they needed Malcolm Reynolds and associates beyond what they'd already given him. If an officer wanted more information than vague portents about company secrets and acquisition of stolen property, they should look elsewhere from Blue Sun. He retrieved his handset from his belt, keying the com-device as he pushed to his feet. "All units, we have a runner westbound for the catch." He found the agents watching him with twin, blandly cat-like smiles, and stared back. "Surround and apprehend, do _not_ use lethal force."

"Hope they at least wound him," the extracted girl grumbled, joining the other troops standing at the doors they had ushered the party guests through and nursing her pride.

The company liaisons nodded to him, no longer challenging his command. He was glad to look away. "Lieutenant," he called, addressing the man climbing out on the other side of the gap. "Form up all ranks on the transports, and prepare for prisoner transport back to base." There was only a small window he would have a chance to ask his questions before the blue hands intervened, but he was intending to take full advantage.

The Councilor seemed to be in some shock at the demolition of her spectacle and the sunken quarter of her obviously expensive veranda, but the unexpected order finally snapped her out of it. "That's it? You dropped all this on us, put our families in danger, and now you're leaving?" Her eyes were icy, but she looked somehow vulnerable, lost, as she crossed her arms over her dusky gown like a petulant child, golden strands straying as the elaborate style of her hair came undone. "Aren't you supposed to defend citizens of the Alliance from the bandits and whatever else is out there? You could at least stay and do your job."

"The intelligence you offered led us to an abandoned wreck. You could consider that this situation has the potential to get much worse," he informed her dourly, acutely aware still of the dangerous men-in-black hovering nearby, the dangerous quarry even now heading into their trap. His handset buzzed for attention. "Report."

Several different voices from their field team began to chime in. _"We have visual." "__We have contact." "Hold fire!" "Who the hell is that?" "Dammit, hold fire!" "Enemy down." _Then, triumphantly, _"We got them!"_ The distant sound of shuttle engines belied the claim. _"We... don't got them." _

Captain Baker sighed, buried his face in his hands, and changed radio frequency. "Control, have our ASREVS home in on the pulse beacon you've been tracking. They've taken flight."

_"Sir? Our sensors indicate they're still on the ground."_

The vessel receded until it looked like a distant point of light, indistinguishable from all the others, vanishing into the night skies over New Jerusalem. "If you're done," the councilor put in, her voice steeped in condescension, "I'm going inside to find my husband, son, and my guests and see that they remain safe. You're welcome to join me. Otherwise, get off my property."


	24. Chapter 23

Whoa exposition. Long single scene wonder. Things SHOULD finally start to make some sense, and the plot gets a direction.

But don't get too cozy, I still have some twists and surprises to spring on you all.

* * *

Chapter 23  
Perhaps he was picking up some of his sister's uncanny skill, because he felt as though someone was watching him. The injured surgeon opened one eye and, careful not to dislodge his ice pack, found River sprawled across the end table, her feet in the air, watching curiously as he reclined on a sofa in the dim lounge outside the infirmary. At eye contact she ducked her head and began writing in a frenzy in the journal he'd given her.

The approaching stomping on the metal stairs paused on the landing, and he glanced up in time to fumble with then secure a thrown flask of whiskey. Simon surveyed the projectile, then the barrel-chested animal in a lewd tee-shirt who had been aiming for his face. "Have we downgraded to barroom rules now?"

Jayne frowned, the expression exaggerated by his unkempt goatee, his thick eyebrows meeting in a furrow. The brute almost looked hurt, almost turquoise eyes squinted despite the dim light. "Drink some already," he insisted, in an impatient rustic grumble, "Gotta have words an' be easier if y'got a few shots in you." The less violent of the two men opted not to comment on the unfortunate turn of phrase. Simon unstoppered the bottle and felt his sinuses burn - the fumes alone might be deadly. "Best'n I got stowed," the philistine insisted, lumbering the rest of the way to loom over the couch, "least what didn't get all smashed when Mal belly-flopped us into the ground."

A professional killer really shouldn't have been able to guilt him, but he could recognize this was some bizarre attempt at male bonding. River narrowed her eyes at the distraction. "Inconclusive results. More study needed," she muttered, and went back to work.

"I shouldn't, I'm effectively on duty," the medic argued. "With the captain's propensity to find trouble, the odds are he'll be in bad shape when he gets back." After all, Mal had been out of sight for more than thirty seconds.

But the last time Jayne had shared a drink with him, two of their friends had died. Simon tasted the liquor and almost immediately choked it back up.

Jayne took the flagon from him and dropped down on the far cushion. "Then we tipsify Mal too," he countered, with an audible swig, apparently immune to the substance. He passed it over again, and at Simon's hesitation, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Just take your medicine like a man."

Which reminded him. "Didn't you hit me not too long ago?" Simon asked, once his next coughing fit subsided.

"Had'ta," Jayne shrugged, "it's a rule." Rarely if ever were their roles reversed, and the mercenary shifted uneasily at Simon's confusion. "Y'know, the rule," Jayne explained before the question was out. "Like if it was someone else and your lil' sis." His mouth twisted in distaste. "Not that I woulda. No offense or nothin' to the banshee girl, but if she got a knife fetish I got bits of me I've a fondness for. An' I don't part with them for nobody."

His sister was smiling at them now in a rather unsettling way, almost entirely shaded by the low lights, her teeth standing out like a cheshire cat grin. "Conducting important research. Curious behaviour of the Y chromosome."

Jayne recoiled, leaning as far away from her as he could. "You leave my chrome-zones alone!" he cried out, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically high pitch.

Simon looked between them, bemused. "On the bright side, I don't think you could be more emasculated than you are right now."

Even River seemed to take pity on the oaf's continued agitation, flipped the page over, and began drawing, as though the previous exchange hadn't happened. Perhaps to her perceptions it hadn't, and she thought she was caught in a dream, coping with what had happened to her by rejecting reality entirely. The thought hurt, as it always did; sadness, that she might not even know he was here, that she was safe and away from that awful place, but also pride, for her persistence and strength.

The other man also studied her contemplatively, though more warily, and only spoke again when he was satisfied that River was sufficiently distracted. "I see how it is. I ain't ignorant," the lummox asserted. "It took me some figgering though."

Simon schooled his expression into something innocent. Jayne was trying to be civil, aside from the pummeling; he could extend the same courtesy. "What do you mean?"

"This crew," the mercenary answered. "Didn't make no kind of sense at first. But Mal's got some _xī__ qí__ g__ǔ__ guài _flight-of-fancy that folks ain't gotta be blood t'be kin." He was disdainful and cynical, but there was also a grudging acceptance in his words. "Like you two. Ain't about the bounties for him, s'about the amends."

Memories of the ill-fated Lilac heist and his departure on Beaumonde suggested otherwise. "Mal only allows us to stay because we're useful. Or, in my case, entertainment."

Jayne took another mouthful of whiskey. "Sure. He kept'cha on after crazy wrecked the Maidenhead bar because he wanted an Operative on his ass. Hell of a punchline." Not even unexpected insights from Jayne of all people could convince Simon to forgive Mal for endangering his sister. The other man shook his head, frustrated by his chronic alexithymia. "All for one and none for all. 'Cept me," he growled. Another drink.

Was that a complaint or remorse? Simon was quickly having to adjust his estimation of either the bigger man's tolerance downwards or the alcoholic content of the drink drastically upwards. Surely a sad and repentant Jayne was not a sober Jayne.

"Doc," the man hesitated, as though testing out the word, his fingers drumming out a rhythm on the metal flask. "You an' I ain't the friendliest, but we been through some ordeals, so maybe now I don't sell you out to Feds an' you don't announce to the girls whenever I got some unpleasantness at a brothel. An' you got that whole thing about healing and such."

Simon didn't need the reminder, and really hoped that Jayne hadn't contracted chlamydia again. He sighed, and braced himself for another journey into horrors best left unknown. "You'll have to be more specific, Jayne, if you're asking for my help."

"Not me," Jayne corrected. "My kid brother. Got some kind of superbug, his usual pills for his damp lung don't work no more." There was something very like a pout on his face, one Simon had also seen when the bodybuilder was sitting forlorn and alone at his workout bench. "No older than your sis," Jayne gestured at River, "and he's dyin'. I ain't spent most my life lookin' out for him and sendin' cash home for him to kick now." He studied Simon shrewdly. "I was thinkin', maybe you know some new-fangled core meds or somethin' might help."

It was a night for the unexpected, Simon supposed. He would never have thought that he would feel sympathy and understanding for any of Jayne's plights. "I'll look into it."

Jayne clapped him on the shoulder. "Then we're settled far as Kaylee's concerned, 'til the next gaffe. Don't much matter whatcha did." It was such a comfort, knowing that Jayne didn't even need a reason to justify attacking him. Still, that was surprisingly less selfish, depraved, and violent than usual. Then Jayne continued. "Vexin' Kaylee more'n the sexin', though. Oughta see to that."

The crude commentary could only exacerbate his mortification, and Simon dearly wished he was not having this conversation, and especially not with Jayne. He glanced at River, who seemed unaffected. Perhaps she hadn't heard. "You _knew _about us?"

"Twenty-one minutes and nine point six seconds in the engine room," River supplied unhelpfully, still scribbling. "Not counting foreplay." Her brother decided that he was going to pretend he didn't hear that for the continuing sake of his sanity.

Jayne snorted. "'Course we knew. Maybe slobberin' over her face 'fore everyone by the mule's your kinda trickery, but ain't exactly a largish boat, you two goin' at it everywhere an' all hours for three months. Kaylee alone can pierce the bulkheads. Louder when she's with company." And apparently the discussion could get worse. "Only reason we weren't ridin' y'all 'bout it was 'cause Zoë's in mournin' and it's right comical when Mal messes with ya."

He felt his jaw drop from the outrage. All the interruptions every time he started kissing Kaylee's neck, dumping chores on them to keep them busy for entire days, the seemingly innocent innuendo... The doctor found himself seriously considering that the next time that _l__ǎ__o__ hú__li_ was in the infirmary for a headache, Simon would give Mal _yin yang huo _capsules instead of painkillers and convince him the hyperphilia was a side effect.

Simon almost didn't hear the distant clatter of the attaching shuttle, the crackle of the intercom. "We have injured," the first mate announced. Simon still had difficulty identifying Zoë's moods or the different tones of her voice, but thought he heard gravity instead of mere annoyance or amusement, and shelved his plans for revenge. "All personnel report to the infirmary."

His patient was there almost before she had finished her sentence; not the injury prone daredevil, but Inara. The doctor rose and any anger he might have felt was overridden by the sight of the captain carrying the companion, the pale and tense look Mal spared for the rest of the crew. Both curious, River moved to investigate and Jayne stood presumably to help, not that they were paid any notice. Without needing any direction, her bearer pushed open the doors of the infirmary and placed Inara onto the examination table like an acolyte before the altar.

Explosion, they said, perhaps she had been hit by some shrapnel or something. The soldier stripped off his brown coat and rolled up his sleeves in case his assistance was needed, but instead, Simon shooed out the gathering crowd so he had room to work. With no small effort, they eventually pulled Inara's would-be sentinel away from the observation window as well.

After he had determined what he already knew, he found them in the galley, gathered around the worn dinner table - normally a loud and social place, now subdued. Even the warm glow of the lamp and the whimsical decorative vines along the walls struggled against the melancholy, and were not enough. He was reminded of any number of grim watering holes he had seen on this journey, the patrons hunched over their tankards and drowning their sorrows. Or perhaps a bohemian bistro in an opera, and dead lilacs.

Kaylee had apparently thought to warm a spread of leftovers in a fit of nervous energy, with about as much of her normal cheer as a butterfly when the autumn frost first arrived. River simply smiled at her brother, and returned to her meal, and Jayne didn't even stop his usual vacuum-like eating, but the rest looked to him when he entered, not particularly hungry. The captain slowly dragged his thoughts away from some impressive brooding, his plate untouched, and waited.

Simon took a breath, cognizant of the three empty chairs. This would be difficult. "I owe you all an explanation, and an apology." He glanced at his _tián__xīn_, her hazel eyes wavering, her soft lips thinning at his disclosure, and quickly resettled his gaze on the others. "A few years ago, while I was looking for River, I stumbled across a cortex alert from Sihnon that caught my attention."

Mal interrupted, his eyes narrowed with impatience. "This resembling a point in the near future?"

"Yes," Simon frowned, with a flash of lingering irritation. "A companion was assaulted on the grounds of one of the guild houses, and several students were nearly abducted." Suddenly his story had become much more interesting. "The girls had been attending a preparatory academy on the side, to fulfill a general education requirement that was part of their training. I thought there might be a connection to the attack and River's disappearance, so I subscribed to a client list and arranged for an appointment to talk to one of the victims." He hesitated to tell them the rest, but they deserved to know the truth. "It wasn't an easy time for me, and she... comforted me."

A stony silence answered him, except for Kaylee, who looked crestfallen, and Jayne, who swallowed his food and gave a low whistle of admiration. "Companion, huh?" the lout asked, clearly still not aware who they were talking about. "She any good?" Despite a murderous look from the captain, he leered with unsavoury speculation, his fork tracing curves in the air for emphasis. "For that kinda coin, petals must smell like peach blossoms, snug as a holster, and _n__ǎ__i__zi _like two..."

"Jayne," Zoë warned.

Kaylee crossed her arms in a sulk. "Was she comfortin' you at that resort on Pelorum?" she accused, and shook her head, her brown hair bouncing around her shoulders. "River and I went huntin' for you after you took off, but you were in 'Nara's shuttle all the while."

Simon wasn't sure how she knew about that, but the captain spoke before he could formulate an answer for her. "She was sick then, too, wasn't she?" His voice was low and tired, almost as though weighed down by his troubles.

"I've been running tests for her," the doctor confirmed. "When I had to change ships on Persephone, I tried to research what was available, and I found an advert over the cortex about her arrival. I thought she might be willing to protect my sister if anything happened to me. It didn't really work out that way, I didn't have a chance to tell her about River. But even after you found out about my stowaway, she convinced you all to give us a second chance." His thoughts grew pensive. Her harsh jibe at him to Mal early on, her disapproving stares whenever he upset Kaylee, dismissive comments about her job whenever he complimented her. "I think, even though she adored River, she felt betrayed by me. I didn't find out about her illness until later, when I accidentally found some of her medications, and then I saw helping her as a chance to atone for my presumptions."

Kaylee was still upset, and he could see that she didn't quite believe him, but he was relieved when she turned some of her anger towards another target. "You said they was havin' an affair," she rebuked, scowling at the other jilted admirer at the table.

The slow-witted mercenary blinked. "Doc? And 'Nara?" Another glare from Zoë shut him up.

Simon could see the regret in the slump of Mal's shoulders, and reminded himself not to take any of this personally. "I'm sorry," he said to the captain, and despite everything that the man had done to him, he meant it. "I think that the concussion from the blast she was caught in was enough to disturb the delicate balance of her system. Her condition has gotten worse."

Mal absorbed that for a few moments. "How bad is it?" he finally asked.

_You saw how bad, she's completely unresponsive_, Simon thought, but didn't say, because he could see Mal was grasping for any kind of hope that could be found. "She has spinocerebellar ataxia with extrapyramidal akinesia. It's rare," he answered, "and still poorly understood, because there are never many cases to study at any one time. Simply, her brain cells produce too much glutamine amino acid. Eventually it builds up, impairs function, and becomes toxic."

River finished her meal and neatly crossed her utensils over the plate. "Goodnight," she said, and even after she left, wandering down towards the stairs to the infirmary and the passenger dorms, Simon couldn't decide if she was commenting on Inara's ailment or not.

"That contagious?" Jayne asked worriedly.

Simon sighed. It was the stupid question portion of the evening. "Genetic. Her mother had a slower progressing variation of the disorder, which appears to have anticipated and aggregated in Inara." Jayne seemed satisfied with that answer, and got up to rummage in the kitchen for a second serving.

"Okay," said the captain, skimming past the medical jargon he didn't really understand and focusing on where his strengths were: decision, command, and action. "So how do we treat it?"

His throat tightened. Regardless of their history, Simon still considered Inara a friend. "I've given her an anti-inflammatory to reduce the swelling from her concussion and something to counteract her glutamate levels, but there's been no change to her condition." He tried for consoling. Whether for himself, for the captain, or for the rest of the crew, he wasn't sure. "She isn't going to wake up from this, Mal. All we can do now is keep her comfortable."

They all reacted with various degrees of shock. Kaylee gasped, her hands clapped over her mouth and forgetting for a moment their relationship tangle and the hurt, Jayne's head lifted as he looked over from the kitchen area behind the counter, and even Zoë's eyes widened. Mal looked as though every emotion had been stricken from his face, staring blankly as the other members of the crew slowly turned to watch his reaction. Then, impossibly, he managed to crack a disbelieving smile and barked a humourless laugh. "What? No. C'mon, no, really. There's gotta be... What about gene therapy?"

"Family history of bad reactions. Gene therapy is what originally hastened the onset of her mother's condition. It will only make her worse, if it doesn't kill her outright, and painfully," Simon replied, dispirited, repeating what Inara had told him when he'd confronted her about his discovery.

"You're a genius, top three percent at MedAcad, you said so. She'll be fine, she..." He was rambling now, one last effort at denial, at convincing himself, then he saw Simon shaking his head, pitying, no. And Mal's temper audibly snapped, his chair knocked backwards like a gunshot as he surged to his feet and slammed his palms on the table, startling them. "You have to help her, you're a gorramn doctor! Fix her!" he snarled, every line of him bristling, looking like he was about to leap across the space between them after Simon, who raised his hands as though to ward off a wild and enraged animal. Mal simply growled. "Fine then. You won't do anything, I will." He pushed off the table almost like he was throwing it aside, storming off towards the stairs in the direction River had gone.

"Sir?" Zoë asked, alarmed, moving to follow him and keep him from injuring himself.

"We still have that cryochamber?" he asked, and didn't wait for her to answer. "Get poindexter to fire it up, or cool it down, whatever. We can store her in there 'til we get her to Sihnon and find a real doctor." He stopped long enough to stare Simon down, blazing with righteous anger and hatred, then continued, raising his voice for the rest of them, not that he needed to. "Anyone who doesn't wanna go there I'll drop off with fare to get them elsewhere, but there's folks on Ezra right now planning on taking the antlion out and we're gonna help. Longer we stay here, less chance she has and more chance we get caught by the Alliance." His voice dropped dangerously. "We're gettin' off this world."

"Finally," Jayne grouched, and was very lucky Mal didn't hear.

"Where are you going?" Simon asked, uncertain if he should join Zoë's efforts and at the same time not looking forward to another fist to the face.

The shadows of the back corridor fell over Mal as he almost vanished through the passage way, but he grabbed onto the frame with one hand and looked back over his shoulder. "Going to get her comfy like you said," he answered. "Prep the damn box."


	25. Chapter 24

So when I first started writing this story, and I wanted to deal with Inara's secret, I originally had been planning to have Inara's symptoms just be delirium, a more common aspect of neurodegenerative disorders. But then I thought that might steal too much spotlight from River. So I started to put together some ideas I'd gotten from a story by natalee moon and from certain famous scenes from Mal4Prez's The Fish Job and Easy Tickets. Recently, Mal4Prez posted a truly excellent chapter in her sequel series, Backstories, but I was nervous that I'd accidentally gotten too close to one of her ideas. So I asked her permission to post this.

Words to keep in mind this chapter: catatonic waxy flexibility.

Also, it might be difficult for me to post my usual update next month. We'll see how it goes. If you don't see anything in August, I should be able to post in early September. If you don't see anything in September, I may be dead. Let harrying and poke-with-a-stick begin!

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Chapter 24  
Anger was easy to reach for, had been for a while, especially around her. The real trick was staying mad, one he was no good at with her. No matter how he tried to hold on to it, that's all it was really - a game, that only lasted until the next time he had the urge to go visit her, like a moth to flame. Like he had to make sure that she was still real, and not something he'd conjured up one night in a fit of loneliness. Because between the bickering she settled him, she and every space she inhabited to fill with her perfumed air, himself and ship alike.

So when he saw her again, saw River at her bedside, both of them looking otherworldly and half to _líng jiè_, hair like the wild evening and pale skin almost blue under the harsh infirmary lights, all his pointless fury turned to so much ashes. Because there was a moment between heartbeats that Inara lay motionless, when he just stopped, and she almost took him with her before she started breathing again. Steady, and stable, seeming asleep, but her essence had gone and left behind only her living shell.

The girl sat by Inara as she lay on the operation table as though in repose, had threaded the companion's hands through the sleeves of a gold satin robe he'd seen before, draped over her like a hospital gown, or maybe a funeral shroud. Wasn't right. She didn't belong here. Never did, not this cold place of grim reality where he dwelt. But somehow a world without her in it, without her smiles and grace or her flashing eyes when she was cross with him, somehow that was worse. _Save her from this_, Mal thought, not really sure who he was asking - he hadn't trusted that higher power for a long time. _Spirit her somewhere so death don't find her. A shaded glen, somewhere always summer, with food and wine and that tea she likes_.

God might not have been listening, but River Tam was. Made some arcane gesture, almost to touch one pretty black ringlet before hesitating. "Safe," River pronounced, then clarified: "Sanctuary." He couldn't disagree. Even fading and unconscious, Inara fostered peace and calm around her. Probably all that training or something. "No," the girl insisted, exasperated, then pitying. "Wasted on them. They never notice her."

Somehow that didn't surprise him. No doubt her clients never looked further than themselves. "Yeah, well, they don't appreciate her," he answered.

The mind reader looked over at him as though curious, uncanny as ever, then raised her hand to point at something reflected in the glass, over his shoulder.

His loyal crew had followed him, with more concern than he rightly warranted, clustered together by the stair scaffolding like they were uneasy about approaching him. Put him in mind of the shepherd and his flock, how he'd repaid the favour, what he'd done.

As a leader he'd failed them, both by tactics and attitude. Inara was dying, and all he'd managed was to hurl bluster at her doctor and hang his head low.

He let his gaze drop. "Don't have much call askin' much more than I already have," he admitted, some manner of apology to them even as his eyes were drawn to her again. Always back to Inara. "I mean to do right by her." Their images glanced at each other, questioning and then confirming, this was not what they were expecting. "Could be dangerous, could be we get nicked. We wait on the Alliance for the all clear, though, they'll catch us for sure. So we want out of this, we put whatever pique we got between us aside."

Kaylee was frowning and unsure, and his second in command was silent and watching, noncommittal in a way that said that she disapproved and they were going to have words later when the rest of the crew weren't in earshot. But the doctor slowly nodded, and Jayne shrugged, as close as the mercenary ever got to genuine sincerity. "Ain't doin' much else, anyhow."

A tug on his sleeve, and Mal startled, because there was River to his other side, silent as a cat's ghost and leaning in close. "_Think no more of this night's accidents but as the fierce vexations of a dream_." The fairy girl stared up at him as she clasped his hand around something, then vanished off into the dorms.

That was somewhat alarming. He studied the little vial like it was explosive. "It's a skin and hair wash," his girlish little tomboy mechanic offered like an olive branch. "'Nara left it for River. Don't think she's ever used it."

A flick of the lid, and suddenly he was surrounded by jasmine flowers, as though Inara had just brushed past him. He shook his head to clear it, no, she wasn't there, not really. "So why give it to me?" he asked.

He saw Simon about to give a smart ass comment about hygiene, cut short by sharp glare over his shoulder. The boy changed strategy, decided to finally obey orders, and slipped by into the infirmary to rummage around for whatever injections were needed. "She'll need to be cleansed and undressed for cryonic storage," Simon told him. "During the freezing process her cells will lose water, and if there's anything in contact with her skin, she might cool unevenly."

Nope. "Really was more just going to talk with her," Mal asserted quickly. Not that she could hear him, he added bitterly, but he would've anyway, if only because he needed to believe that on some level she was still there.

He was rattled enough by the suggestion that Jayne snorted at him, then turned a dubious eye on the windows. "We doin' this in here?" The captain's blood curdled a little. We? For once it seemed like Jayne wasn't after skirt chasing and meant some honest help, but that was more than Mal could handle for one evening. He gave them all a darting glance, and hurried to gather her up, to get her away from there."Wasn't gonna look," Jayne muttered, forlorn as if Inara had called him hero and taken a bullet for him, and took his leave.

Zoë fell into step behind him, eyes burning at the back of his head. "Dippin' into the rainy-day fund?" she challenged quietly. "Doctors and treatments ain't cheap, and we barely have enough some weeks for food, repairs, and fuel. Given any thought on the money at all? Sir?"

He halted. "There's some recourse," the captain answered, unconvincing, with a careful shrug. He stood very much aware of his boat around them, the silence of the usual operational hum, the damsel in his arms, vulnerable, her eyes closed. The sight pained him deep down, and all he could do was hold her tighter, protectively, as he continued on. "Need you with me on this, Zoë."

She wasn't, had hung back to appraise him and his response, and hadn't liked what she heard. "Might be that's part of the problem," she said, and abandoned him outside one of their empty rooms. Couldn't exactly chase after her, what he was carrying, and he cursed to himself. With Zoë in a snit, River off wandering, and Kaylee puppy-dogging after Simon again, he'd just run out of womenfolk to bathe her in his stead for propriety sake.

- - - - -  
Even with only two people, the infirmary wasn't much bigger than a closet, had been converted from back storage for field medics even before captain ever bought her. Took some special effort then to avoid her, bustling around in the cabinets like Simon was. She didn't want to disturb him, but contrite wasn't working, and she also wanted to talk. "Why'd you never tell us?" she asked.

He finally turned to her, and he had his professional stuffy coreworld upper class mask on, with some hurt underneath she wanted to snuggle away. "We were concerned how some members of the crew might be affected by the news of our history together. I had River to think about, Mal is unreasonable at the best of times." Something bitter flashed through his pretty eyes, and she couldn't meet them anymore. "And neither of us wanted to upset you."

This was stickier than she'd hoped, like winding her way through an ungreased engine. "No, I mean, about her sickness." All this time, and Inara had confided in not a one of them. "Woulda explained lots, and we coulda been there for her, 'stead of her leaving." Kaylee had always admired the companion almost to the point of envy with all her glamour and her lifestyle, and now it more seemed just sad, like Inara had been trying to deny anything was wrong with her, and forget, distracting herself a while with luxury now and then. She never thought someone who had so many _shuài_ boys after her could ever seem so isolated. "Can't even picture how hard that'd be, dealin' with all this on her own."

She heard Simon exhale, a little "oh," and she chanced a peek at him. His face softened, less angry and cornered. "She didn't want to worry anyone else," he defended, but relaxed enough to lean against the counter. "And as her doctor, I had to honour that." A frown, like he disagreed with that choice, then he shook his head and went back to his syringes and solutions. "As for why," he mused, filling a needle from a vial then carefully tapping to check for bubbles, "She devoted her life to helping others. She might just not be comfortable when the roles are reversed."

Kaylee didn't think she understood how a person could get like that, but that made a lot of sense to her anyway. Like how the captain looked after them, but never let anyone to see to him and told himself all sorts of stories to keep them away. And sometimes it was like Simon felt guilty for having his own needs separate from taking care of his sister. "That's kinda like you," Kaylee said. She smiled wanly. "Maybe ya'll just need to let other people in."

"Let people in how?" Simon asked, and she had plenty of ideas, but then she noticed the edge that crept into his voice. "Put a foot in it whenever we try to talk to anyone we care about? Or better yet, find out they don't trust us enough to even listen to the truth?"

- - - - -  
No answers from over the ship intercom, so he really was on his own. Mal considered the door first, decided to trust his crew because engaging the lock would be unseemly, like he had something to hide. He turned his attention to the rest of the room. Beige panels and the bare mattress, the crumpled boxes stacked in the corner, and Inara, catatonic and settled cross-legged on the middle of the floor.

Mal scrubbed at his face, feeling the stubble he'd grown since the morning. He hadn't any notion what he was doing. He was no Jayne, he cleaned up well enough for a scruffy captain on a boat often weeks between worlds. But this was something outside the range of his meager experience.

There was a sink concealed in the wall panel, like in all the other living quarters, where they kept kits stowed for crew and passengers. He pulled out a sponge and two bowls, filled one with soapy-scented water, and tried not to spill as he sat himself and them down next to her. Then he just watched her a while, thinking about approaches to take, working up the nerve, until finally he reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear, struggling for words. "I know you'd hate this if you could say. But you heard the doc, and I guess I'm it," he told her.

She didn't even acknowledge his presence, and he could almost imagine she was just meditating, doing her best to ignore his annoying personage. Maybe she'd reached the nirvana all the Buddhists like her talked about, or the heaven he used to believe in. He stroked his thumb along her cheek.

He'd shamed her enough already with his unfair barbs and mistreatment. What right did he have? She might not have a choice, but he damn well could find some way to honour her still, her and the trust she had to place in him now. "Tell you what," he proposed, "I won't be disrespecting you in any way, and I'll leave you covered with this smock until we close up the cryobox. And all you got to do is come back." He patted her arm, not quite looking at her. "You can even hit me if you're like to."

Seemed a good deal to him. That's what he told himself as he turned her, hand at her waist, so as to start at her back, as he pushed her soft, tangled hair over her shoulders. But he still felt like a miserable sorry hump while he removed the brassiere-like scrap of white gossamer though the reversed opening of her robe.

He closed his eyes against the feeling, took a deep breath. _Just keep talkin', Reynolds_, he ordered himself. Lifted the bowl, the sponge. _Have to get through this_.

"Be on Sihnon in a few weeks, like you asked." Casual, as if this was every day. He traced moist circles into her skin, into the low curve along the line of her skirt. Maybe this would be mundane soon, them in some core hospital. "Take you to the guild first, see what kind of medical plan they can give you, find out the options." Mal nodded to himself. "I'll be there long as it takes, 'til you get tired of me." He smiled at the fantasy. "You'll be back to yelling at me again in no time," he promised. "And when you're walking again, I'll take you dancing, so you can make all the haughty ladies fuss over how they look."

His attempt at lighthearted failed as he remembered all of her high class peers that would be there. If she'd hooked up with a client long term, would she be in this state? He'd fought off a suitor at sword point when the possessive _hún dàn_ veered towards abusive, but if it hadn't been for him stirring up jealousy, maybe she'd have been all right.

Who knows if the hidden price tag of her illness would've been too much for them. Not one of them ever had to worry about their own bills in their entire wealthy lives, no reason to think they would for anyone else. Himself, though... "Don't you worry about the money, I'll come up with somethin'," he said, resumed washing her. Squeezed out the ashen water, soaked up from the fresh water bowl, squeezed again. He thought about his first mate, now widowed, her complaints about the danger, how maybe she had a point about their costs of living and ship upkeep. "Hell, could always hawk _Serenity_ to Zoë," the captain mused, rolling the idea around his tongue.

Wasn't the first time he'd thought about it. He was getting too old for this kind of life. His scars bothered him, new and old, even the one where he'd gotten hit by the shrapnel, that he shouldn't even be able to feel anymore. Every time he came back from a job, or another screw up, or playtime with some new sadistic yāoguài, he felt it, a creak in his joints and a growing slowness, like the onset of winter. There'd come a time soon when his quickdraw wouldn't be fast enough to counter that one bullet with his name on it. All he could do was try to dodge it before then.

"Wouldn't be so bad," he affirmed, trailed up her sides, over her ribs. And he really meant it. He'd been a dirt pounder before. Had another home once; foolishly given up, burned away, and gone, but his while it had lasted anyway. One where he was surrounded by life, instead of spent all his time taking it away. Filled with sunlight and the smell of cool sweet rain, the wind rushing over long grasses that bowed as it passed. He suddenly wished he could have shown her all of it, chased her across the fields. Hopped the rough cross-beams of the driftwood fences to lay out a blanket and picnic under that big maple tree at the bend in the creek, one of the days when the afternoon was clear. She'd tease him about the straw he'd found to chew on, like a hayseed had sprouted there in between his teeth. And as the sky turned golden, he'd have told her about all the friends and family he'd lost.

They'd have a porch, with a seat-swing hung to one side. They'd be laying on it half napping and half alert while the kids ran in and out of the house with with the white siding and blue shutters, and never closed the screen door. His arms wrapped around her, sliding under her silk clothing, hands passing over her belly.

Mal took Inara's silence as disbelief, not just that he could give up flying, but that his first mate would even want his job. "Hey, just 'cause she's in my employ taking wages don't mean she'd rather be elsewhere, and that she won't like to be in charge," he argued, moving slowly upwards along her spine and the smooth muscles of her back. "Got some miles left in this boat, been a good place for all of us. And for Zoë, there's a sentimental angle." He studied the curlicue strands at the scruff of her neck, the trickle of water from the sponge before it slipped under her loose collar to her shoulders. "There's market demand too. We had a bona fide companion rent the shuttle from us a while."

Hadn't exactly turned out, though. "Never thought we'd end up like this," he admitted. "Way you glided into the shuttle that day like you owned it, you had me sellin' you on its virtues, and I'd been against the idea." She'd even seen through his lie about her having competition. The way she handled herself, in grace and business, had caught him off guard, and he guessed he'd been distracted by her, not at his best. But then, he never was with her. You want me, she'd said, and she was right. That's what was strange about it. She provoked him from the start. Everything about her said privilege, courtesy of the same folks who liked to shoot at him and bomb civilians. Yet all of her wiles, all her knowing speculation about their respectability, and he'd trusted her anyway. Enough to let her on his ship and among his crew. "Made me want to change your mind 'bout me. To prove myself."

So he insulted her. Tried to get a rise out of her. "I ought not to have called you that," he repented, smoothing across her wishbone to her sternum and back. Never was all that good with the girls back home, shut up with chores on the ranch and only going into town for church. Then with the war, any tenderness he might've been able to give someone had been killed stone dead.

She'd gone off after that first meeting to see a client while he pretended to decide, wasn't supposed to be back until morning. He found himself looking out at the evening on Persephone from the airlock, propped up arms crossed against one of the struts. The fiery red in the sky had long since faded to violet, and he'd been thinking about her. When he felt someone staring at him, he found her there, waiting at the base of the ramp with her luggage around her. They'd regarded each other a long moment, and he thought he might never forget her expression. She'd looked broken somehow, standing defiant amid everything she owned, and she was asking him with her eyes for shelter.

Something had passed between them then, some sort of recognition. _What are you running from_? He thought then that he might know, because maybe she was like him. Maybe she was running from herself.

They hadn't needed to say anything more, and he'd hauled her things up to her shuttle while she observed. Then she'd joined them for a protein dinner around their wood table, opposite him, Kaylee bouncing in joy about her staying with them. Wherever she'd come from, she somehow fit in. She laughed at Wash's jokes, smiled adoringly at the younger girl, showed his second in command respect. He thought she looked like smoke and candlelight.

He never asked her why she'd come back early. He reckoned he wouldn't have liked the answer. Because he couldn't imagine why anyone would send her away, and the more he thought about it, the more troubled he was about what someone could have done to her to make her leave. And he knew he could be worse. He wondered if he would ruin her. Even so, it took him more than eight months to meet one of her clients and stop with the mudslinging. It wasn't until he heard Atherton Wing call her a whore that he realized how wrong he was. That he was hurting her.

He'd been too late, because six months later, she left.

As he reached the end of her arm, he entwined his fingers with hers, admiring how small and dainty she was in comparison, the way her hand fit in his palm. He repeated the action with her other side, then stood. "I know I ain't made much of myself," he said, crossing over to the sink again for a fresh supply. Then he returned to her side, poured the water over her head, catching the excess in the other bowl. "But I'm gonna try to make that up to you."

He ran his hands through her hair and over her scalp, working the soap into a fine lather. He'd keep his word, because he was tired of failing the people who depended on him, who he cared for. Who he needed, lest he spiral down that dark road and lose whatever soul he had left.

And he needed a miracle. She remained deaf to him. Motionless, sightless, voiceless, unaware of just essential she was, how he was willing her back to them. For her to turn, and see him, and say something. Anything.

She didn't respond to him, to any of it. His heart heavy, he rinsed everything away.


	26. Chapter 25

I guess I should put a "what the heck did I just read" warning up here, just in case.

Very special thanks to Platonist and Another Sky for looking at this one. Platonist had to put up with dozens of questions about how one of these scenes should go, and Another Sky convinced me to not take this further than I did. This chapter does actually have a purpose in the plot, it's not gratuitous.

I did manage to finish before that deadline issue I mentioned last chapter. There might be some various edits and changes as the week goes on though, maybe even more than my usual after-posting editing frenzy.

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Chapter 25

Simon had thought before that the name _Serenity_ had a funereal sound to it, and events since then hadn't exactly convinced him otherwise. So in a way it was fitting, that the cargo bay seemed like the vault of an earthen mausoleum, metal framework and brown wall paneling climbing into the shadows above them.

They had removed the contents of the shipping crate from the back of the ground trailer, had gathered around in a semi-circle to pay their respects. The clamps echoed into the gloom as he sealed the cryochamber, a hard and unforgiving sound. The doctor hesitated, the last button unpressed, until he received a go ahead from the captain. The container flooded with a hiss of super cooled air. The freezing process took only seconds, for his patient's heart to stop, for her vital signs to cease.

He rested a hand on the lid, his own quiet farewell, and as he moved away, his sister stepped up to take his place. She leaned over to lay her ear on the shimmering grey surface as though to listen, her long dark strands arrayed around her head, her arms wrapped around the sides. Perhaps she was able to hear something, some song of cell or molecule or energy after clinical death that not even science could detect. Even so, her supplication was perhaps a little too much, and not entirely appropriate. He tapped at her shoulder and she allowed him to somberly lead her aside.

She had prompted the rest of them out of their own reluctance, and they each took a turn saying goodbye. Zoë stood tall next to the stasis cell, the salute of a bronze honour guard in a leather vest instead of a uniform, a moment of silence before she departed. Even a sorrowful Jayne shuffled awkwardly nearby before he blurted something out in a mumble and hurried away.

Kaylee was next, the sadness of her face in contrast with the cheery sweetheart patch on her overalls and the pink print of her shirt. Despite his own feelings of hurt over her lack of trust, he felt a sudden regret for his harsh words to her. But he wasn't about to interrupt her, and wasn't even sure what he could say to her, or even that there was anything he could say without looking even worse in her eyes. She seemed partially aware of his attention, and, glancing at him briefly, fled up the metal stairs, not wanting to spend any more time in his presence.

Only Mal remained. The lights shut off automatically as Simon helped River to her room, not wanting to intrude.

- - - - -  
Morning. Even the hum of _Serenity_ was softer than usual. Not that he felt any kind of promise for the day when he got up from his ratty bedsheets, or that it meant any more to him than the turn of one restless shift to another. But he pulled himself up, like always, and shrugged on some clothes, snapped his suspenders into place, tugged on his boots. As he ran his hand through his hair and groomed himself into some likeness of human, he didn't ever look in the mirror over the sink. No real urge to see the red in his eyes and all his failures glaring back. Mostly just made him want to put a fist through the glass, and he couldn't afford another replacement, and the doctor would get after him about how many weaves he kept using up.

Wasn't often that anyone was awake before the captain. He never rested well anymore even in the best of times, spent a lot of strange hours avoiding sleep or fighting off ghosts and memories by surveying all their nooks. So he knew most everything that happened around his boat, and too much about the tendencies and whereabouts of his crew.

Kaylee usually slept soundly. His hardworking mechanic wasn't much for troubled slumber even after the danger they'd seen, what with all the "playing doctor" going on. He'd hear the new couple carry on for a while, then bill and coo irksome at each other, then hush, and not stir again for the rest of the cycle. At least the boy didn't snore. Jayne, though, sounded like an artillery shell. That missed the trenches, and hit a munitions depot. The hulking mercenary did everything in excess from vice to eating. An armed intruder couldn't wake Jayne before breakfast.

If it wasn't for some recent nightmares Inara had, he might have thought her free from the same drawbacks of all the mere mortals like them, and that she stayed up practicing her arts instead. But when he'd finally got her to relax, he found she was as subtle in sleep as she was in everything else.

Mal would find River on his rounds, curled up napping wherever she'd dropped during some witching hour safari. He thought that she might end up hurting herself on accident, but they couldn't exactly lock her away, and they were nearby if she needed them, so no harm had yet come of it. Book would sometimes wake early, and cook an elaborate meal as if it made up for the transgressions of his God and humankind. Occasionally he'd cross ways with Wash, the pilot would get up to check the helm then stumble back to wife and bed. More lately it was Zoë, after one of her all-nighters sitting on the bridge, sneaking back into her bunk for a change of clothing. He pretended he didn't notice, since it was only fair for all the times she'd covered for him.

Couldn't hear anyone else awake, so he had _Serenity _to himself for a while. He climbed his ladder, popped the hatch, but stopped short of the galley, wondering why he had a largish and thin curved sword impaled halfway through his well-used and already battered dining table.

He crept closer. Seemed to glow golden, lit from the lamp underneath and the dawn shining in from above. For all he could tell the blade knew he was there and could lash out at him, not much else to account for where it had come from. "Erroneous," River appeared like a wisp, an oracle in a new moon shroud. He snatched his hand back. "Misplaced." Less than a breath. "_Wrong_."

As if to make an example of herself, she climbed up on the table with a composed dignity, using the chairs as a step stool. She closed her eyes, head tilted back, and threw her arms out, drew them back, arched one overhead. A high kick to the side, her foot pointed, then a twirl on tiptoes. _Too__ early __by __far__ for __this_, he thought, and turned towards the counter to look for the instant-caf powder.

Mugs full were already there, steaming and waiting. _Shepherd_? He had to remind himself, no, the preacher wasn't with them anymore. But mysterious swords aside, he wasn't going to turn down a tin. He grabbed one and took a sip, leaning up against the counter. Zoë joined him from behind the cabinets. Maybe she'd always been there, like she was always at his side. Like she'd walked out of his own shadow one day when he needed another soldier, then never left. Or maybe she'd had another rough night, and brewed them up some sludge.

Not that there was any other option - fake coffee was bad all around, so better to make it thick. He nodded a greeting to her, and thanks, and said something else. "What's that about?" he asked, waving a hand at their unique teenager and their sharp looking new centerpiece.

Zoë appraised the scene, then gave him a bland look, like there was no other place for cutlery and a dance show. Even her kinked brown mane seemed flat and tired. "Think it's your problem, sir."

He watched then as the companion passed through, her hair styled high and austere in some shiny gown, ignoring him. Something bitter twisted in his gut. Must have an appointment.

The corporal levered herself away from the ledge like it was all that had been holding her up. "Don't put her off," she told him, and headed for the bridge. He thought he saw a blond ghost with her, and that she might have laughed at some unheard joke.

A clank of metal in the crew corridor, and Kaylee passed the widow on the way in all but dragging Simon. They weren't fighting, must have made up. He frowned at the younger hands, the doc in particular, who'd started to try to lure River down. Much as Simon had lost, he had someone who doted on him, and much as the doctor tried to get back the River he knew, he almost seemed to forget his sister was still alive.

Jayne followed them in, much irate because he'd apparently had been woken up by the commotion. He stomped up and crowded in to secure his own cup of joe, and hunched over to guard it jealously, scowling over at their other crew mates. "Boy don't know how lucky he is," the big man opined, and swallowed some bitterness along with his drink. Mal supposed that if he was starting to agree with the misanthrope, then he should make himself scarce. Maybe he'd take Zoë's advice.

The mercenary stole his mug when he set it down like the man was collecting them, but otherwise he went unnoticed.

So there was no one to go after him when he stepped into the front hallway, and it wasn't the same one he'd come from. The walls were a brilliant pristine white, cold, impersonal, and judging, and he didn't have his trusty sidearm or browncoat with him. When he heard the sounds, _scratching__clawing__GNAWING_, he ran. Don't look back, because they were right behind him, because they were gaining. Not like this. God, not like this. He turned, raised his arms to ward them off, and he was tackled, he was pinned. He struggled as they held him down.

"Mal!" _Xiè __tiān __xiè__ dì_. An angel. She kept on at calling his name, back to himself, almost like a chant. There was a glow around her, resplendent; she was a silhouette in maroon silk, vague and out of focus. Something was familiar about the way she hovered over him. Her fingers were smoothing over his brow, running through his hair. "Oh Mal," she said, and she sounded almost choked up, but that wasn't like her. "What did they do to you?"

She had him pushed back into the cushions of a narrow couch and was sliding his shirt off his shoulders to see for herself, the buttons undone. A huff of exasperation, and maybe a hint of sadness at the fresh bruises and the patchwork of scars, red and angry layered on pale. She skimmed her hands over him, tracing each mark - she hadn't learned anything from the last time she frisked him, though he didn't mind so much right now - then gave another sigh like relief. She whispered something, hands cradling his head, the veil of her hair tickling face, her breath soft against his face, and so close. And then

Light. An explosion behind his eyes, glory pounding through him in waves like the beat of his heart, from her lips, down his spine, to the soles of his feet. She tasted like a memory of cherries, lifetimes ago and half-remembered, dry and rougher than he expected. Inara, a name as important as his own, inseparable from who he was, filling in his breaks until he spilled over. If she had asked him then he would have offered her up his soul on his tongue. She seared away all the pain in him and replaced it with hope, tentative and growing, burned away the barriers between them until it was just him and her, joined.

When she broke off, somehow both quick and lingering, he wasn't going to let her get away with kissing him like that, not how much he needed her. He hooked her around the hips to pull her over on top of him, nestled into his side, long legs thrown over his. What's more, she let him, with only a half-hearted exclamation. She tilted her chin to turn her eyes to him, surprised then wondering.

He thrilled at the contact again, the way her curves fit against him. _Wǒ __kào _she was soft. He gave an appreciative hum, tracing figures through the fabric of her robe into her back, inches above where the garment came to a tantalizing end. "Woulda been nice if they'd sent me somewhere like this after the war," he mumbled.

Inara shifted, and he saw her blink at him. "A guild house? With companions?" she questioned, doubtful, but her voice was warm, and he never could tell if she was teasing him or sincere. That explained the lavish luxury around them though; she might have his shuttle dressed up in columns, hazy curtains, and trinkets, but the open view down a grassy hill was new.

Mal snorted at her. "Y'mean instead of a pretty woman tending my hurts, I coulda had burly orderlies and been caged up?" He shook his head. "You do drive a hard bargain." Would have been loads better than what he'd been through. He could just imagine one of their temples given over to treating the wounded, taking in injured soldiers and prisoners of war, and Inara as the lady with the lamp among the ranks, far away from the horrors of the battle front. "I'm here now, though. Guess I got my wish after all."

An actual smile bloomed on her face. "And, in this fantasy of yours," she prompted, "who exactly is administering all of this tender loving care?"

"You are," he answered, and shrugged, because it was obvious. His grin was just this side of rakish. "Also, you make me dinner." Among other speculations. Like whether any of her lusts were the insatiable type, or what she might wear to bed when sleeping wasn't on her agenda.

Inara rolled her eyes at him. "That's quite a dream," she said, with a tone that there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd domesticate her, and that was good. He wanted her free-spirited, like when they'd had too much engine wine, or the rare times when she wasn't thinking about being a companion, and he wasn't thinking about being an overworked freighter captain. But she rested her head against his chest and made herself more cozy, so she was more amused than annoyed.

One of those moments fell over him, thunderstruck, the important ones that weren't for jokes. "Just 'cause something ain't real, don't mean it ain't true," he told her, testing out the words, and feeling the weight of them.

She fell quiet for a while, almost like she'd drifted off, when suddenly she rose up on her hands, looking out towards the field beyond their pavilion. "Let's go swimming. In the creek, like you promised."

Where'd that come from? He stared, flummoxed by the change in conversation. "What, you mean now?" he sputtered. There was an eagerness in her voice that was hard to defy, but staying on the little couch meant more time with her laying on top of him, and many, many other such benefits.

"When else?" she countered, and got to her feet, much to his disappointment. He made another grab for her, and she danced away, challenging him with a laugh. She squeaked when he almost caught her, and dashed down the hill side, him in close pursuit. Soft green grass knee high around them reassured him if they were to take a tumble; they hopped a fence into the next pasture, and he saw his favourite old tree. The realization almost tripped him. He was home.

Inara had only just barely stepped down the sandy bank into the creek when the sky turned dark, streaks of flame screaming down from above. The landscape withered around him in the heat; a dusty noxious fog rose, stinging his eyes while sparks drifted in the still air like fireflies, burning his skin. Plumes of smoke and fire jumped upwards, all the way to the endless horizon.

The ground rocked underneath him from a nearby impact and he landed face down in a trench and into some slick, sticky mud, more red than brown. The echoing whistle, boom, and crackle of the missiles had faded to a terrible silence, with not even the rush of a desolate wind over the barren and battle-scarred field. He started to pick himself up, and looked right into the half-ruined face of one of his soldiers who had died on Hera. The private's good eye was open, unblinking, and the boy seemed almost aware of him, but said nothing. He got up and away quickly, moved, kept moving, his hand on the sandbags piled high on his right to find his way. They'd stacked bodies too, some in pieces, but here they were mostly whole, and all of them had their heads turned towards him, some of them with their necks at impossible angles.

He passed Tracey, still chagrined in his last moments, and didn't look close at the glimpse of greying hair or hawaiian shirt he caught. Faster still past his medic and his mechanic, curled around each other in their last moments, then his mercenary, and then Zoë, still vigilant and on guard even with a hole where her heart should be.

The creek was just up ahead still, somehow still there, though now silty and befouled and about the colour of blood. Inara. She wasn't back here among the dead. He ran harder towards were she'd disappeared, shouting for her. Something wiry and frail climbed out onto the water, clothed in midnight rags with dark straight hair and too small to be full-grown, her face unnerving serious.

"They aren't blue," she muttered, in a core world accent. Her dark eyes looked back up at him, glowering as she scrutinized him. "I placed her in a glass casket, but she was lost when the water rose too high." Her glare softened, replaced by something more like fear, and she folded her arms around herself, shivering. "Now she's trapped, and it's dark, and she's cold." She looked back up at him through the straggly waterfall of her hair. "So cold."

He waded out into the stream and her hand shot out liked a claw and clutched at his wrist. "But you'll protect her," she said, sinking, dragging him down under the surface, where it was icy freezing. "You'll protect her, like you protected me." The deep closed around him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was nearly blinded again by the brilliance of the white hallway. Inara was here? No, no. She couldn't be. Not here. Anywhere but here. The growls and shrieks of the others echoed, sometimes seeming from faraway, sometimes from right behind him as they hunted. Demons in classy suits and uniforms as much as disfigured and lesioned. Everyone would be rounded up and corralled, like cattle. They'd take her, pay her, then break her and he'd be made to stare.

Another shout, their bloodthirsty joy. No. "_You have to protect her_. _Won't you_?"

He reached the elevator, limping, rode it upwards to where he'd left them. The chokepoint was abandoned; bloodless, but that was no comfort.

The hunters had opened a hole in the far door and were starting to come through. And then he saw her, Inara, struggling to reach him as the host tried to pull her back, or pull her apart - he wasn't sure which. Her dress, gold like the dawn, was torn to shreds around her. He'd seen her like this only few times before, pale, her brown eyes wide, lips thinned from the effort of putting on a brave front. He held his arms out for her, but she was looking at something behind him. She was scared.

Mal saw only the reflection of metal and a browncoat, and leaped between her and her new attacker. Barely felt the impact of the blow, the sword twisting through him and out his back. Not the smartest thing he'd ever done, and now the last. Inara shouted something that he couldn't understand. He gritted his teeth against the black creeping in around the edge of his vision and surged forward, knocking them both off balance, and looked into a face like a mirror before he hit.

- - - - -  
He was almost heaving when his eyes snapped open. His shoulder and cheek ached where the steel grating was pressed into his side and face, and his brain was muddled enough that he didn't know his own cargo bay right away. Then he remembered - the collapse, the decision he'd made, how he couldn't abandon his vigil. He'd spent the night out here, close to her, and so far.

That was one of the worst dreams he'd had in a while, and it wasn't fading in day light. Sore though he was, he laid very still a few moments longer, before he felt safe enough to move again. He braced himself, then he rolled over. The capsule was still there, sharp-lined, harsh, and real. He reached out to attempt some kind of connection, like he'd never managed while she was active and lively, but the outside was cool to the touch, the inside more so. Much as he wanted to promise again he'd save her, she couldn't hear him. He wasn't sure he believed they could anyway.

"Won't you?" River was draped over the top of the box, watching him.

_Guǐ chě jiǎo_. He stared up at her. There were sometimes that girl was just not right.


	27. Chapter 26

This chapter may need a few more edits, and I'm thinking over some aspects. We need to get this story back into some action, and hopefully I can deliver next chapter.

Some of my Firefly friends out there have birthdays this month, plus Halloween's coming up, so I'm taking this week and maybe next to do some entertaining artwork. I might post links next chapter if anyone's interested.

* * *

Chapter 26

The dream followed him on bare feet with a swirly dress. She was like a spirit of storm and wind. He surprised himself sometimes how he'd grown used to the girl's strange whimsy, but then she'd become something familiar too. In any case, wasn't much point yelling at her about what she had no control over, like little Kaylee when an engine or person broke and she took it too hard. He thought maybe they had some innocence left and he wasn't the monster who meant to take that away.

With some detached patience he climbed the stairs, her haunting him all the way like that last glimpse of flashing metal. He turned to her when he reached the top step, just in case their furniture wasn't intact and sword-free. "Go and get that lazy brother of yours up," he ordered. The Tam girl grinned at him, and off she went.

The galley was as it always was, an easy scene for taking their meals like around a campfire, rendered in wood panel and goldenrod with leafy vines stenciled along the walls. No weaponry or impalement waiting for him. He still wasn't sure if he was awake yet or not when Zoë appeared seeming out of nowhere and restless.

Reliable as ever, she took his state at a glance and left him the space to put a kettle of water on the stove. The ritual was almost routine; whenever he couldn't sleep for the gunfire in his mind or when he couldn't find calm in his bunk before he had to be up captaining, he'd wander the ship, then eventually end up in the galley and brew up some coffee. The task distracted him and put him more at ease.

Not to say the stove wasn't a damn aggravation. The burners were so uneven, an unwatched pot would tip over when it boiled, and they had to be constantly nudged upright. With just one threadbare oven mitt and a few ragged towels, there was always a ration of early cussing at breakfast. One time he'd joked that he didn't even need the coffee because he was already awake by the time he got it. Kaylee who loved a homecooked meal and felt responsible for _Serenity_'s every hiccough had pouted at him, and even Wash, after a hard night navigating a rough patch at the helm hadn't any humour to contribute. But they never had money or parts leftover to fix or replace the stove, so in disrepair it remained.

This morning he could still hear Inara screaming for help, and devoted himself with single-minded intensity to the coffee. He couldn't let himself dwell on her, or he'd make himself useless. Wasn't easy to forget her, though, she had a tendency to waltz into his thoughts whenever she felt like it, and damned if sometimes she wasn't welcome. Once he had his hands around a hot mug he was feeling less shaken, and was able to sit by Zoë, dropped into his seat at the head of the table and exchanged a knowing look with her.

In that almost quiet tolerance, it was almost easy to forget their warforged friendship had been ripped apart when Wash's last breath had been ripped from his lungs. That is until he tried to offer her the coffee pot, and she waved him off. After that Zoë's silence kept getting louder, so he made a tactical retreat. He tossed back the rest of the drink, and clunked the tin down, and stood, pushing his chair back. "Better get everyone up 'fore they miss all the crime," he said, and went to the intercom to call the crew.

The Tams were making their way in, River leading her stumbling, half-dressed, and much harassed brother. He watched the young doctor's progress. There was a misery about the boy as he searched around for a couple of bites in the pantry, and Simon kept looking towards the crew corridor like he couldn't decide if he wanted to see Kaylee or to scamper. He looked like a rookie hunter on the trail of his first big game, half eager and half afraid of a mauling. The boy had the steadiest hands on a surgeon he'd ever seen but one sunshine ray of a girl could scatter his wits like so many nutrient bars across a tidy kitchen floor. Mal frowned, annoyed by the display. "Easy, son. She's not a bear."

That seemed to stir Zoë some out of her thoughts. "Hell hath no fury, sir," she quipped, amused.

The boy ducked down to pick up the mess he'd made, on hands and knees reaching around the counter, refusing to acknowledge their teasing. River crouched down nearby, studying his efforts, then snatched one away to her normal place setting.

As the captain, Mal supposed he had some responsibility for Simon and Kaylee beyond making sport of them, both as a couple and for the spat they were having now. Maybe this was something he could actually fix instead of making worse. "If you keep gettin' 'em confused, just remember, Kaylee's the more formidable hugger. Also, they both got a sweet tooth," he supplied.

Simon looked up at him, blue eyes dubious, arms full of wrapped oats, then caught the glance at the pile of strawberry flavoured granola he'd dropped on the counter. "Thanks?" The statement was more question than gratitude.

Mal nodded to the boy anyway, then impatiently hit the com. Hard. "Jayne!" he barked.

A reply was slow coming. "Yeah Mal?"

Another morning routine; getting Jayne up and moving generally required some vague and creative threats. Not even half-hearted meant, though the lummox never seemed to realize it, which Mal supposed was why they still worked as threats. "If you're not in the galley in sixty seconds, I'm sendin' River down after you."

A hesitation. Past events had taught Jayne some fear of the unpredictable and sometimes dangerous girl. "Ain't that a kinda excessive?" The man lowered his voice, though not enough he couldn't be overheard. "She don't fight fair. What if she's stab happy?"

"Then I'll give her the knife!" Mal retorted. The doctor winced, both at the idea of his sister armed and incited to violence, and at having to treat Jayne, who wasn't the best of patients when just getting innocked let alone injured. Mal ignored the objections. "Get up here already. You too Kaylee." She answered with a sleepy affirmative. He pointed at his medic, already set to leave before his not-quite-ex-sweetheart saw him. "And before you run off, I need a list of any meds you think the Alliance onworld might have that we could sell." The girl's hatch opened and Simon was gone. Already in the rhythm of giving orders, the captain didn't miss a beat as the mechanic entered. "What all do you need to get us ready to fly today?"

Kaylee had been only half aware and bed-headed, a rumpled pink shirt hastily thrown on and her cover-all straps handing at her waist, moving absently towards the treats Simon had left out. "Not much, just a few more parts I was thinkin' we could salvage." She picked up one of the snacks. "But we'll need some fuel too, and our powercells been runnin' low."

"You worry about those parts and cells, I'll get us the fuel," he assured her. Some of his new plan to frustrate the Alliance must have shown on his face, because except for River nibbling at an oatmeal biscuit they were all staring at him and a bit unnerved, Kaylee halfway through peeling the plastic off one of the bars, Zoë more than a little suspicious. Before they could ask, he heard the mercenary in the hall. "Jayne, you find any weak points in the blockade when you got back last night?"

Jayne leaned around the corner and squinted at him, then swung his head around to peer at the other crew, looking for help from them as to what was going on, then back when none was forthcoming. "No one stationed in the scrap yard," he answered, shrugging, "Ground's too rugged for a machine gun nest too."

Finally, something going his way. He pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning. "We're heading out then. River, keep your brother out of trouble. Rest of you meet me in the cargo bay, about ten minutes."

- - - - -  
The air was dry and already heading towards hot, sun glaring down on them, dust stirred up by the thermals and their passing. Even the capital of Ezra wasn't such a busy town, many of the ship berths were empty, the west end of the port all but abandoned and reclaimed by the dunes. All she could see for a while was the construction yellow of the hovermule and beige, Zoë steering them up, over, and between. The sand shifted around them, seeming almost to sparkle like diamonds. As they approached the scrap yard, there were bits of junk that stuck out, scattered over the field at first then becoming denser, until they were more on top rummage than they were ground.

For Kaylee, all the heaps of twisted metal they were rushing by were good as a playground. She'd get her chance on the way back later, but even the promise of new toys and parts wasn't enough to cheer her. She hadn't seen Simon all morning, and she was afraid what that meant.

Captain had traded usual places with Jayne to sit by her instead of up front with Zoë. She knew he was sorry and wanted to say so. But he was reminding her what she'd done and wished he'd say his piece already.

Once they were out of the secure zone and hadn't tripped any automated defense, Zoë turned them towards the distant spires overlooking the bazaar where they'd been before and Captain cleared his throat awkwardly. "Led you wrong about Simon," he admitted. Kaylee understood. _And Inara_, he meant, but didn't say, couldn't say without the name and the memory hurting him.

The tears sprung to her eyes, but she blinked them away and set her mouth. She wasn't going to cry, because she could see Zoë and Jayne half listening in, because everyone needed her to be strong. Especially him. "You couldn't help it," she told him, even though she was still mad at him. He couldn't deny the fact, but she continued on before he could think up a way. "Me neither. He couldn't even talk to me 'cuz how I'd react, I been so sure I wasn't good enough." She was more angry with herself. "And whad'ya know, thinkin' that way just made me right."

His mouth dropped with some outrage on her behalf. "Not good enough! What kind of... Kaywinnit Lee, I never seen a better mechanic or more cheerful soul in all the 'verse, even when you ain't doin' much of either." He spoke with an odd mix of stern affection and jest. "I don't know where you get these ideas, but I hear talk like that out of you again, you'll be wearing bows and ruffles for the foreseeable until your head gets full up."

He was trying, but he'd really only succeeded in upsetting her. How could he say that, when he thought he wasn't even worth the bullets shot at him? She looked away, watching houses with colourful hangings and curious locals streak past. "Maybe I should be talkin' to Simon."

He agreed. "Maybe so."

She chewed on her lip a little, and the worry she'd been trying not to give voice to slipped out. "What if he don't forgive me?" She almost said it in a whimper. Amazing what one boy could do to a girl. A real _shuài_ boy, and nice, and polite, and smart, and so good, with those pretty eyes and smooth cheeks and those hands and his mouth and that body. He was perfect, she thought. Maybe a little shy, but then she could surprise him, and oh, he was a quick learner. There were so few boys she ever wanted more than having a little fun with, and she just couldn't stand it if he didn't like her anymore.

A snort, almost a laugh. "Wouldn't be Simon if he don't," he answered, matter of fact.

Kaylee wasn't sure if she believed him, but that made her feel better anyway. She smiled and Zoë drove on.

- - - - -  
The two teenagers laid their brother to rest in the sandy churchyard, while the priests and the stark edifice of the temple behind them officiated, stone-faced and world-weary. They'd wrapped the boy in linen because they couldn't afford a coffin. There was only a small gathering - anything larger attracted the attention of Alliance patrols, and at the center, the open grave was given wide berth by the other onlookers except for the lonely and abandoned pair of kinfolk.

No pomp, no honours, one of millions that died in the verse, but Zoë saw how those gangly young pall-bearers carried themselves. She'd been born and raised military, couldn't be any other way. When the Alliance had gone after the traditional militias, joining up on the other side had been part professional necessity, part retaliation for the betrayal. But once the war ended she had nothing else to do, and she joined the Dust Devils to keep fighting.

So she knew what they were. These children, young as they were, they were soldiers. That boy, being put in the ground, that could very well be her own someday if nothing changed. She crossed her arms around herself, felt an anger like a sickness at whoever could use them like that.

The captain and the crew all remained seated to show their respect, but she couldn't watch anymore. She rose out of the driver seat and and swung herself over and onto the ground. Mal was wondering at her, but she didn't answer. He wanted to consort with the type made little kids fight their battles for them, she'd have no part of it.

She stared down a young priest trying to get her to put a scarf over her hair, and pushed by when he'd given up. Despite the tall facade out front, the chapel was rather humble on the inside, a one story collection of rooms made out of the sandstone and adobe the locals had available. In the main hall, instead of artifacts, there were refugees everywhere, laying on bedrolls and waiting for their second chance. Not unlike a number of other houses of worship they'd holed up in that had gotten desecrated by both Independent and Alliance shrapnel. Far as Zoë could tell, except for the end of the war, there'd been no karma or divine backlash. She figured if there were any gods up there between the stars that disapproved they'd be more direct.

Mal might think he was subject to some wrath still, but that wouldn't stop him, any more than all the other hardship and near death. Didn't much matter to him where he was smote. He strode into a church nowadays like it was a challenge to the almighty.

He found her easily. She hadn't gone far from the archway, spotting a group of foundlings dressed like Inara had been the night before, white scraps of barely there and no other clothing to their name. Former slaves.

The youngest of them had skin like coal, and the other girls said she'd been injured in the explosion. Zoë knelt by her and stroked a hand over the frizzy little head of hair, and the child slept on in some kind of exhaustion. She'd spent long nights in the med tent like this, but these kids hadn't chosen this, hadn't volunteered or gone through boot camp. This was the only life they'd known.

Mal was hovering nearby and hadn't said anything yet, just watching her. She tilted her head up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Captain," she prompted, ready for the next fight. The title slipped out of her mouth like a bad habit. At this rate it would be the first word her baby said.

Instead of impatience, like she'd been expecting, he looked stricken. "Zoë," he answered, and then his eyes flicked down to her hand, still on top of the little girl's head, and like always, she followed his lead. "Wash was a funny guy - in all sense and meaning - but he was there when it counted," Mal said, like he needed to tell her. "Good pilot, good man, I'm assuming good husband." The Reynolds brand of sympathy, annoying and ironical, but also sincere. "He'd have made a good father."

The man never made anything easy, even being angry with him. But she had to, else her child and Wash's would never have a chance. As his corporal for two years in the war and his second in command for almost a full decade after, she was the only one he allowed to question his orders, call him out on his _shén jīng bìng_ plans, even insult him, but none of those confrontations had ever felt this final. She took a deep breath. No time like the present.

"I'm pregnant." She covered her belly; it was all she had left of him. A wistfulness came over her, some kind of grief, the first time she'd admitted the fact. But there was a joy at the realization too, unexpected but real. "Go into that base, take down the Alliance, save her if you can. But I'm stayin' behind when you do."


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

As Zoë left him and went back out into the sunlight, he felt like he was watching himself from a distance, ringing numb and in a stupor. Dust motes drifted through rays of light from cuts in the sandy walls. Life went on around him. He glanced up towards the cross, illuminated high above the crowded chapel, one of the three schools of worship that used the room. Abandoned. Funny how that was. He could be in a crowd or surrounded by his crew, and still be set apart.

The sounds of the hall started to fade back in, and he dragged his eyes away, the room seeming darker than before. He made his way through. Nothing he wasn't used to.

People were still stuffing themselves in; all the settlements were gathering so as to wave the Alliance with their intention to lay down arms, soon as the Cortex link was back up. He wanted to be gone before too many refugees started to recognize him, or worse, concoct new tall tales to share. Just his luck, when he passed through the door he had to go by some of the villagers who'd taken them in after the crash. Their patriarch gave him a kind, almost pitying smile, that told him he'd let too much Malcolm Reynolds show and not enough Mal.

Wasn't God going to help them, his crew, nor Inara. Not the Alliance they were begging forgiveness, not even the hopes they had pinned on the shadow behind the stories they were telling about him. None of his efforts had been for them. He wasn't any kind of champion, least of all theirs. But he'd do what he had to.

He ignored their prayers and blessings, left the church for the hellish beige swelter of the plaza. There was Zoë, back at the wheel of the mule, as though she were about to drive off without him. Jayne and Kaylee were sill there, hanging around waiting with a few of the rebels he'd already met, his smiling mechanic trying and failing to make awkward small talk, and Jayne glowering, arms-crossed, and impatient whether it was desert midday or not.

Two willowy long faced blondes by the names of June and Lena Tol sized him up as he approached, distrustful. They looked out of place wearing local skirts in bright green and blue, holding a couple of heavy rifles, but they had hardness and competence enough to put off anyone with any Jayne-like ideas. But the mercenary was glaring at Iris Katsumi instead, tiny girl with short black hair and almond eyes who had taken them captive a few nights ago with a stun rifle. If she was intimidated at all by the bruiser she was hiding it under a good show of curiosity.

This world wanted a fable, the _Illiad_ was as good as any. Give Omar something to talk about besides parables and belief. He stood before them and took them in, and supposed after Zoe took Kaylee back to repair _Serenity _this would be his team. "You still got that roller you stole before?" Mal asked, in lieu of greeting.

So that was how he ended up at the back of a murky pit of a saloon, waiting to take down a gorramn tank.

The bar happened to be handy alongside a patrol route and most of the patrons were spacer dregs. Like themselves, and already irritable, also like themselves. Behind the counter was a bald man, shirtless and pot-bellied, with a shotgun in the crook of his arm and as concerned about any imminent violence as the battered walls were. Good recipe for his purposes, thanks in no small part to the blockade, temperament, and the heat.

At this time of day there was no escape. Taking shelter just trapped all the sweat and misery indoors. He was nursing a warm beer tasted like it'd been squeezed out of the bartender's apron, looking for the right spark, when a conversation from across the room erupted. Two jackasses by the loophole bickering over their tab, slurring, red in the face, and with two days worth of stubble, discussing the finer points of whether somebody could owe some-other-body for not busting any of their teeth. The usual kind of exchange for an establishment of this high standing. Mal nodded to Jayne, then left some platinum. They'd do. He grabbed his coat from the booth.

The bar, half sensing some entertainment and half hungover yelling for the men to shut their yaps were already watching when the soldier and the mercenary approached the brewing fisticuffs. It took Mal catching an alcohol-slowed punch for the drunks to notice they had a crowd. "What's your problem?" snapped the brawler, fixing for another fight. Mal, for his part, guessed it was the other man's head-wear. Hat like that would make anybody ornery. Like a muskrat mated with roadkill skunk. He glanced at Jayne, who knew every type of offensive and was looking to enjoy the one they had in mind. Yep. Definitely the second worst looking hat he'd ever seen.

"Word of advice," Mal offered. "Don't forget to tip."

For a moment, they were confused, until his thug overturned their table and they both went heels up. Mal stepped over the nearer man despite all the cursing and a few kicks aimed at his ankles, righted a vacated chair while Jayne fixed the settings, then they took their places. The fallen two scrambled to their feet, enraged by the casual display, when one of them spotted his coat and it registered through the haze. "You're that Malcolm Reynolds," he realized.

Scattered laughter at the sudden upheaval went dead quiet. He rolled his eyes, shook his head at all these people. About time. "Yeah," Mal replied, feigning disbelief and mockery. He waved at the brute in the goatee. "And this here's the hero of Canton, the man they call Jayne."

The mercenary smirked. "It's funny 'cause it's true."

Their audience was muttering, pulling out handsets, the wanted posters, cortex links to check. Mal could say with relative certainty who he was, and by the sound of it, everyone else was figuring it out as well. He could hear their back and forth about whether to turn him in._  
_  
"There's a bounty on your head," the man continued, as if Mal didn't know. His friend joined in and pulled a pistol on them.

A dagger, out of nowhere and expertly thrown imbedded itself in the barrel of the revolver. He quickly found the culprit, a stern and very large man, darker even than Zoë, covered in metal studs and tattoos who nodded to him. Jayne was already moving, picking up the would-be gunman and tossing him outside. Mal wrapped a hand around the other man's head, knocked off his hat, then smashed his face into the ledge.

The whole room was quickly turning into fist-hammering, person throwing, glass shattering chaos; those fighting over collecting on him, and those joining in for the hell of it. A swordsman dressed fancier than the rest of the patrons in crimson robes ran at him hollering and waving around a fencing sword; he tripped an attacker charging from the other direction, who barreled into the man's legs and they both fell hard into a table. The bartender had raised his double-barrel and was yelling for everyone to get out, and Jayne grabbed a chair, slung the guy attached into a wall, and began to clear a path to the door without much trouble. Mal thought that was maybe a good idea, except most of them were gunning for him. And going for their sidearms.

He ended up ducking the other way as the first shot exploded a tankard by him, spraying the wall, and then he was hit, though not by a bullet. After he shrugged off whoever was hanging from around his shoulders and nearly wrenched himself more - the _sha gua_ was wearing that hat again? - he threw them towards a thick batch of rowdy. A waitress got the man across the face with a serving tray and a satisfying _clang _of metal.

"Hey Mal!" he heard Jayne calling from outside, "Still alive in there or 'm I gonna haul your carcass out?"

Almost in answer he found himself propelled through the hole in the wall, and it occurred to him that he had far too much experience with that kind of fun. He stood, brushing himself off, then almost immediately was back on the ground when the first casualty Jayne had taken out of the fight chose that moment to get back in. He looked up, happened to see the blade of the swordfighter stabbing down at him and rolled out of the way. The other scrapper spat out a blue streak and began trying to pull his sleeve free while the swashbuckler tried to recover his sabre.

The brawl inside the bar was starting to boil out into the street when the Alliance roller came crashing along the avenue. For a moment Mal blinked, and was back in Du Khang, drawing the enemy towards their choke point. Daring them at the top of his lungs to gun him down like they had his friends and family.

An ultimatum came on over the loudspeaker, with a warning burst from the gat-laser. A radiant red wave swept the street, streaking over his head, and after that just about everyone but him and Jayne were scattering.

He laid there for a while, catching his breath and bruised. Someone had hit him with mug at some point, the alcohol stinging as it seeped into his new cuts. A pair of Alliance marines unloaded themselves from the AFV, hauled him up, one of them was reaching for the headset in his helmet to call in his capture when one of the blondes came up from behind the tank and tossed a flashbang down the top-hatch. The soldiers turned, and she lobbed another at them.

By the time the thunderous light faded, the three girls had the gunner and driver out and the entire firesquad all tied up. One of the blondes gave him an even less impressed look than she usually had, but then he was more dirt and blood at the moment than human. Probably Lena, though she was hard to tell apart from her twin. "Are all your plans this bad, or was that some kind of cry for help?" she asked. "I can't decide if you're stupid, insane, or if you just have the worst luck I've ever seen." Mal didn't think he could rightfully answer one way or another, let alone dignify that with a response. It was a fair question, though. First time he'd met these people, he's also been in a bad way, and not just because he had a whole bunch of slavers shooting at him. "Stupid it is," she concluded.

- - - - -  
They rumbled into base when dusk was blazing rose and periwinkle, among hulking shadows of machinery and fire from the sunset spilling out on the ground. After the attack they were feeling tense, hadn't spoken much to each other. They were all crowded in and they were now short a uniform. That was the kind of thing that would get them in trouble. All they could do was sneak into one of the tents and try to take one off the many companies on base, hope that in the dark none of the officers would notice.

The tank settled, engine clunking as it turned over to a stop, sand scrapping a little in the hydrogen combustion turbine. Once they were all powered down, Jayne busted the comm array with the butt of a rifle as the two taller girls climbed out and gave the all clear. Mal got up from his seat, standing over the four men, tied up, gagged, and stripped down to the skivvies. They glared back. He checked the knots on one, who struggled but made no headway in loosening his bonds. Good enough. He shrugged at them, not quite apologetic. "Thanks for the ride," he said. "I'll leave a note so someone'll let you out before mornin'."

The Alliance soldiers all wriggled around at that, screaming at him in muffled and incoherent anger. He went up the ladder after the last girl and Jayne, and quickly shut the hatch behind him, cutting off a stream of likely unflattering rants and death threats.

Iris held a finger up for silence, then pointed at the cluster of desert camo across the open grounds. Jayne opened his mouth anyway the moment they started walking, shaking his head like he'd been dazed from a knock to the skull. "So wait," he said, slowly, trying to make sense of things. "Zoë?"

He'd never have believed he'd see Zoë become a mother. Before Wash, she'd been harder than him, still was in some ways. Not an ounce of the sentimental in her. But then he'd never figured her for the loving wife or marriage sort, and she'd been both with Wash. "Yeah," he agreed, somewhat overwhelmed by the idea himself.

Some sense of panic in him had wanted to yell at her what was she thinking, or maybe shake some sense into her. A toddler, out in the black on _Serenity_, with all the gunfights and sharp corners and break downs? Around Jayne? Around _him_? And that all was much later. He couldn't imagine anything could slow Zoë down, not even balance issues or twenty or so extra pounds. As a soldier under his command, she'd probably carted around loads heavier, and that never stopped her from covering his sorry hide. But even the healthiest of women could die in childbirth.

A smarter part of him knew just how much she needed this. More than that, she was right, about the sacrifices they'd made, about Wash's legacy. The risks he took, all of it could be in vain.

He wondered sometimes how things might've turned out, the few times they'd come into money, like after they'd sold that antique gun and retrofitted _Serenity_ and bought the new hovermule, or that time they'd had to go treasure hunting for a pay-off and it had been more than anyone expected. They could have retired, lived well. But the past had come back to bite them, as usual; an Alliance special ops had gone after _Serenity_ after hearing a report about Zoë's days as a Dust Devil. He'd given up all that money as a bribe in return for their safety.

He could've taken jail, the show trial, the trumped charges, the prison time. But truth be told, he had been afraid, had seen the future laid out before him harsh and lonely. He'd betrayed his own crew, held them all back for his own sake, and now the Shepherd was gone, and now Zoë's child would never know a father.

She'd moved on with her life, something he'd never managed, something he rarely ever let himself think about. He had to respect that. Even when it meant she was moving on from him and their past and their soldiering days, and didn't need him anymore. Better alive, and him alone, then dead.

Jayne was still talking. "She gonna get all enormous?" he complained. "Lose her figure?" There was some manner of disappointment in his tone about the last part, earning the troll an annoyed look from the three other women.

That was his second in command the mercenary was talking about. "Zoë has never once failed in the line of duty, and I don't expect that to change. That's all that matters." Mal rebuked. They came to a stop outside and around back of one of the field tents. "Also, wouldn't exactly go around talkin' shape nor size. She's already inclined to strangle you."

The caveats were enough to shut him up for a few seconds, but he soon spoke again, with some genuine fear. "We already got one crazy running around. What if she gets all... hormonal?" Jayne's voice hushed on the terrifying word, and he hugged his big gun closer. "Goes at me with a knife?"

Mal shrugged blithely, and lifted a corner of the tent flap. "Run for your life and hope she don't waddle too fast." He crawled under the canvas panel, emerging at the end of a line of cots.

The soldier laying on the nearest gurney was staring up at him. His nerves all jumped, but the man didn't move beyond the steady rise and fall of his chest. The others joined the captain, each startling in turn. Jayne waved a hand in front of the marine's wide open eyes, before one of the blondes caught his wrist and squeezed like she was going to break each of his meaty fingers. Mal took in their surroundings, and frowned.

They were all like that. Every single person in the tent. There was a pile of fliers scattered over the nearest crate - _All soldiers showing any signs of reaction must be brought to the infirmary_, followed by a list of symptoms in tiny print.

About then, they heard a noise, like someone shifting, and ducked back down into the shadows. There was an Alliance medic towards the front of the tent, going down the rows of injured. He stopped at each soldier, crouched, gave an injection. As they watched, the treated soldiers would suddenly jolt, flailing out, and the doctor would catch their limbs, lean down and say something to calm the patient. After a few tests, raising arms, legs, curling and uncurling fingers, some mark would be made on a clip board, and the soldier would sit up, gather their effects, and walk out.

Mal stole one of the nearby papers and they silently withdrew.

- - - - -  
Across the breathless expanse, the I.A.V. Ratched grew from a black spot into imposing spires against the lit backdrop of Ezra. Like a hole consuming the interdicted world.

The cortex was silent about his movements, as expected. This was a game of cat and mouse. With one rogue Operative and another left dead for them to find, they had to catch him before any more damage could be done. They would track him by the stolen identity, lure him into a false sense of security, and never admit he was at large. His mission was to secure his objectives then get out before he could be recognized as an imposter.

After he sent out his docking request, and allowed the automatic systems to take over, he pulled up the confidential files for the teenage test subjects on board. When the ships connected with a distant echo and a chime from the console, he stood to meet whoever or whatever awaited him on the other side of the airlock.


	29. Chapter 28

Some of you might have seen some spoilers last chapter, sorry about that. I was reshuffling things around and decided that reveal didn't work there, and I might have other things I want the Operative to do first. You'll probably see that come up again. Hope it doesn't ruin the surprise in this chapter for any of you.

EDIT: I decided to move the technical stuff in Simon's realization to a later chapter because I think it was bogging down the flow. But this will let me get into a nice scientific discussion. Too bad it's Mal and Jayne over the com-system that Simon has to try to explain to.

* * *

Chapter 28

Most of the day had been too hot by far for working outside when Kaylee and Zoë had parked the hovermule among some piles of scrap, the air wavering as it rose off the shimmering dunes. Kaylee had given the mule a long look, but figured she didn't need to disable it, since no one was around in this heat anyway and she had to admit it kind of blended in. Kaylee felt bad for the machine, in that way most other folks thought was crazy - she didn't always have the parts to keep everything on _Serenity_ better than mint, including the mule, and while she might be able to look at the heart of things and see something shiny there, everyone else always just saw something broken down and good-for-nothing. Maybe that's why she'd been drawn to the people she was. Her crew had a lot in common with her ship.

So she and Zoë had holed themselves up in the shade of the grandmother of _Serenity_, a model 01 Firefly, waiting for the cooler hours. The _Susanna_ didn't have the part she needed, she'd found it earlier on a Huey and she'd checked the Firefly already the first time she'd been by. They could still use some of the other stuff though, because except for a few modifications on the extenders, the Firefly models hadn't changed much. The ship was dead, its family scattered. But everything lived on in some way or another.

They both worked quietly at first, Kaylee only speaking to point out what they wanted and explaining how to take things apart. Kaylee had always looked up to the warrior woman for her strength, but she had some trouble communing with her - when Zoë wasn't focused on work, she also wasn't much for girl talk. Sometimes she'd taken to asking Zoë about the war, with some mixed results. Nowadays making chatter was even harder. Used to be she could talk about Simon, and Zoë would talk about Wash, but that had changed too, with her and the doctor carrying on while Zoe was in mourning.

She found herself really missing Wash and his jokes and his easy conversation. As a pilot he'd had at least some idea about electronics and engineering. Captain tried, but the only piece he'd ever memorized what it was and where it went after almost ten years was the catalyzer he'd nearly died for. So usually Wash went with her on her errands, and they always got to gossiping about all the shipboard romance. He'd never failed to give her good counsel, he'd probably know exactly what she could do about Simon and solve all her problems.

Last time she and Wash had been scavenging was just before Miranda. They'd snuck into a shifty impound yard and nearly were caught before they'd taken cover in another aught one Firefly, though Wash was shoulder-shot in the confusion. Captain and Zoë went looking when they hadn't come back timely, but they'd only found them after she'd had to jury-rig the gravity and Wash had flown them to a pick-up point and made contact.

Kaylee had been more aware than him, what with Wash bleeding out like he was, and she'd had to try to assure him that the others would come for them. Wash hadn't thought so; his wife was nothing if not practical.

_"But she loves you_," she'd insisted.

"_Like air_," he'd answered. And here Zoë was, still breathing, but missing something that made her work right. Like air.

She'd wondered at the time what it would be like to lose someone. Nothing really could have prepared her for the reality. So she asked, breaking into the easy routine they'd sunk into, her loosening the pressurizer from the housing while Zoë kept tugging at the radiator. People always overlooked the coolant systems. "How come Cap'n left you behind?" Not easy to miss they'd been at odds for a while, but she never would have thought she'd see the day Cap favoured Jayne over Zoe on a dangerous job. A shift like the shudder before gravity gave out and set everyone drifting.

The part had come out, and Zoë was crouched down putting it in their rucksack when she paused a moment as though thinking it over. "Maternity leave."

Something clattered to the metal grating underfoot, not that Kaylee was paying much attention to her tools at the moment. "_Xǐ cóng tiān jiàng_!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in joy and almost singing. "Wash woulda been downright delirious!" She wasn't far off from that herself. The whole engine room seemed to bounce until she settled herself back down and she dialed her voice down to something not so high-pitched. "Oh Zoë," she breathed, "You an' him always wanted kids, he even said so. You remember? When we had all that money and we were talking 'bout what we all were gonna do with it?" The mother-to-be smiled, a little pensive, and Kaylee realized she ought to get back on subject. "What'd the captain say?"

The hope glowing in Zoë's face dimmed. "Nothin'. Just stood there."

Even in full steely mode Kaylee could see she was hurt. History like they had, much as he depended on her, and Zoë got the brush off like that? Kaylee shook her head. "He'll be all smiles, soon as his heart catches up with his brain." She frowned at his image, then scooped up her wrench and yanked the water reactor's control nozzle out. "_Bèn zhuō de mù gùn_," she muttered. Then she had the cooler free and in the bag, and saw Zoë waiting, hand at her waist and all business again.

"We done here?" Wasn't a question. Kaylee nodded, Zoë slung the sack of goodies over their shoulder and they made their down the stairs and out.

The sky had seemed to come ablaze, spilling fire out onto the ground like doomsday. Kaylee wondered at it. A baby. All that back and forth between Zoë and Wash over kids, and there was a little half-Wash and half-Zoë on the way after all. She looked up at the mule as Zoë lifted the swag into the back and climbed in, and had one more question. "Zoë? You had your tiffs with Wash. How'd you get through 'em?"

Zoë's hands clenched on the wheel. She closed her eyes like to take in the last of the fading warmth. When she opened them again, they were stern. "You don't fight now and then, you don't know how you'll take the hard times when they come." Kaylee drew closer and settled on the seat next to her. "And when they do, you got that choice, to stay together or go it alone. And if you both want it," she trailed off, a tremor in her voice, and then continued strong, "You hold on to each other. You don't give up until the end, and sometimes not even then. Sometimes you say sorry, and sometimes you don't have to, but you live every moment like it's the last."

The advice was almost lost in the noise as Zoë released the brakes with a clatter. The engine rumbled as they sped away, floated out over the glittering reach of sand.

- - - - -  
Port control was housed in the only building on the airstrip, a monitoring tower atop a sandstone bunker. Like some kind of fortified lighthouse.

They were boasting a system more high-tech than the usual gun-wielding thugs, though it had that too, whole army of professionals camped out on the perimeter. Mal surveyed the contrivance by the steel blast doors, thinking that if Kaylee were here, she'd be in already.

No thanks to Jayne, whose idea of cracking the entry was to mash his palm into the keypad. "Access denied," chastised a benignly calm and matronly sounding computer, "_zhē duàn, tōng xíng zhèn_." Mal pushed Jayne aside and tapped at the touchscreen trying to fix whatever Jayne had done, found his lungs again and blew out hard when nothing happened. No auto-fire, no one to come investigate the sound. The mercenary shrugged at him.

After he told himself Jayne looked contrite, he turned to the three ladies, who were staring at the spectacle. _Mù bù rěn shì_. "'Scuse me, don't suppose any of you know the pass code?" he asked, playing the goof casual.

"Move," said one of the blonde twins, not even giving him the time to drag Jayne out of the way. Probably June, who talked more, terse though she was. She entered a series of numbers until the digital display read off "_maintenance_," while her sister Lena knelt, ripping out the wiring behind the panel and stripping some down to the metal. Jayne sat himself up against the stonewall in a sulk after recovering his rifle and grumbled about them, about the security, and about not having any charges to fix this all right up.

He was worrying over anti-tampering alarms and whether their specialists knew what they were doing - disconcerting when he was dealing with folks more reckless than him - when the smallest girl shouldered a gun almost larger than herself awkwardly. "We all used to work here," Iris explained, her dark eyes far away and staring up at the view screen in the traffic tower high above, affording a vantage over all the docks. "June was on the Cortex, Lena was on the electronics and monitors, and I was a pilot hired on for flight information and navigation."

That explained how they were planning to take out the antlion then. He wouldn't have thought it to look at them, the only other cyber-techs he'd ever met were non-combatant types. These ones knew their way around firearms and clearly didn't trust him, and that had him on edge. They reminded him of when Zoe was new to the Overlanders and doubted he had the brains to fill a rooster's skull - not that she had changed her mind any after near on a decade of friendship. "So why all the gunshow?" he asked, _and attitude_, he thought, and already had his guess.

Iris had pulled into herself, hugging her arms and her weapon close. She glanced at him, then away, hiding behind her chin-length black hair, but it set her talking again. "One day, the Federal Marshall stationed here, Folsen, he decides he doesn't want to pay us anymore. Ties us up, sells us off to Shosenk." Her voice went very quiet. "Took months before we could get away."

Slavers. _Chái láng shǐ tú_. He had really wanted to be wrong. "Folsen," Mal repeated, and the girl shrank even more at the name. "Bleached hair, the one we killed?" He kept his tone level. She nodded. Too bad. He wished the monster was still alive so he could shoot him again.

There were a few moments of thoughtful silence. Jayne scratched himself, couth as a bear at a tea party. "So how long's this gonna take?"

"Bypassing voice command," Lena answered brusquely, with the implication for them all to _bì shang zuǐ b__ā_ so their jabber didn't set it off. Another pair of wires crossed, and they looked over at the door expectantly.

Nothing happened. "Can we get it open?" Mal asked.

She frowned, inspected her work intently and then sighed, unbraided part of it, started re-weaving. This time the latch clanked aside and the steel split open down the middle to surprise them. "Done," Lena told him, pointedly, holding up the correct wire combination.

They moved into the hall as the lights flickered on, and Mal stopped for a moment just inside the entry. He'd expected more sandstone, a tunnel like Jordan village out in the grasslands where they found safety. The Alliance apparently liked to standardize all their facilities with their penchant for too bright, stark, ultramodern corridors. He didn't notice his own recoil until he bumped up against the door again. Trapped. _This ain't a dream_, he reprimanded himself, and made himself take a step forward, then another. _Get a grip_.

Now that he was looking, he saw the differences, not some dead end with no way in or out and he had no idea how he'd gotten there. There were two alcoves to either side leading to other rooms and stairs at the far end. Their specialists were set on heading up to the cortex source box at the top of the tower, but Jayne was more curious about the other rooms. The man caught his eye, and Mal ignored the girl's impatience and went over to take a gander himself. Jayne was a lot of things, most negative, but he was also one to know danger when he saw it.

Turns out there was plenty to see. There was some kind of lab behind a barrier field, separated in two with a prep/decon staging area and a cleanroom. Scientists in what looked like EVA suits were gathered around a table, hard at work even going late into the night.

"Why're they messin' with them grenades?" Jayne muttered.

Mal squinted - they were. Flash bangs, not frag, but they had them scattered around in parts for reassembly. "Looks like they're laced with something," he guessed. "Probably smoke powder. Disorients for longer." But he wasn't sure himself. He'd never seen the stuff packaged in vials like that, or needing that amount of caution. He thought back to the immobilized soldiers they'd seen in the med tent, the warning about some kind of reaction. This looked like the cause, whatever it was.

Inara. She'd been in some kind of explosion at the councilor's mansion. Mal sucked in air at the rush of energy that seared along his nerves, and barely heard June insisting that they hurry up. They needed to know what that chemical was and the medicine they were treating it with.

He ignored the complaints to check the other side of the hall, which turned out to be a storeroom. Amid all the crates there was a fortune to sell on the blackmarket, everything from extra fuel cells to ration bars. Jayne broke into a grin at the sight, and they started searching the inventory. The girls stood waiting impatiently in the doorway. "What are you doing?" June demanded.

Mal didn't bother answering, he thought it was pretty obvious. Especially with Jayne grabbing about everything he could shove into the cargo pockets of their disguise uniforms from off the shelves, with particular interest in some sort of antibiotic inhaler. A new thought occurred to him. "Those concussives you used earlier, were they Alliance made?" he asked.

She was so taken aback by the unexpected question, she managed a full answer with more than four syllables. "No, they were from one of our old stockpiles." He nodded to himself. At least they wouldn't also succumb to whatever had laid down the Alliance ranks.

Then he found the vials.

- - - - -  
Simon settled on the beaten yellow common room couch outside the infirmary with his medical encyclopedia. Nothing to organize, he'd finally gotten everything back in place after the crash, and he'd given a glance at the cryochamber, looking after his patient. No change.

He had long since become accustomed to the dichotomy of life aboard the ship - spikes of terror amid long stretches of boredom. Perhaps he had changed since he had left Osirius with River, looking over his shoulder. He used to relish those breathers. Now he looked forward to port leave as much as everyone else, anything to break up the tedium of travel, and yet despite the close quarters and high tensions that sometimes resulted, he worried about the crew when they were gone. Well, not everyone on the crew. He couldn't quite manage any concern for the captain or Jayne at the moment, but what had happened to Inara wasn't any fault of her own.

If he had to admit it, he was missing one person more than others. Specifically, he missed Kaylee's smile. Which was strange, because Kaylee wasn't in any danger, and she hadn't even been away for long. They'd been distant after his confession, and then after he hurt her _again _like an idiot.

"She's sorry," River said. He hadn't realized she'd been watching him.

This was a huge risk they were taking, not waiting out the blockade. If the Alliance stopped them in their getaway, if they boarded them, they might find River. He'd spent so much time trying to keep her safe from them, and now they were flying right into their hands. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he assured her, angry on her behalf, "the captain shouldn't put you in danger like he does."

His sister looked at him like he had graduated top three percent in stupidity. "You're so alike," she said. "I know you tried to save me. Still are. You never failed me, Simon." Her mouth curved upward, but her eyes were sad. "Evangeline drowned in the River. No more blame. Everyone has lost."

He'd understood her to the last part, and that confused him more than chastised him. He returned her smile anyway, apologetic; it had really seemed like for a moment she had shone through the fog that settled over her for the past week. "Evangeline?" he echoed.

"Captain's _mèi mei_. Her eyes were blue," she explained.

Simon couldn't reconcile the concept; Malcolm Reynolds, black hearted tyrant, taking them back aboard despite the Alliance hunting for River and Simon's subordination, his big brother role for Kaylee, the tolerance for Jayne, human catastrophe of manners only looking out for his own blood and kin.

Before he could decide what to think, Mal spoke over the ship's loudspeaker. "_Doc_."

He pushed aside his questions as he stood, clapping his hand on his knees, resigned, strode out from around the cluttered end table and stepped up to the intercom. Normally the crew didn't ask for him on a job unless someone was injured. "Captain," Simon acknowledged. "Is everyone all right?"

The captain hurdled right past the inquiry. "_Got something here, need your expertise. What's Fuss-fo-no Math-y Kwin-o Zal-in Deen_?" Mal had to repeat himself twice before Simon could catch the entire chemical name.

"_Phosphono-methyl-quinoxaline-dione_?" Simon translated. He had to rack his memory a little, and vaguely remembered it from something he had been researching in regards to River's condition. Specifically he'd been interested in the opposite effect, as the compounds tended to increase psychotic and schizophrenic behaviour. "It's a family of chemicals that affects neurotransmitters - nerve cells signaling between each other. Why?"

Mal already sounded serious, but his voice took on a grim edge. "_Because the Alliance has a whole lot of people out here in the same state as Inara, and they're putting this stuff in grenades. I'm thinkin' that's the reason_."

"That's not possible," the doctor dismissed automatically, consolingly, but his mind was already working. There was something he wasn't quite recalling, that seemed important. He ran a search in his databook. It all clicked together, and Simon went numb. G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate. "Oh, _tiān ya_. It's the Pax."


	30. Chapter 29

Hey everyone. Sorry this one's a little late, holidays. The next chapter still has some things I'm trying to iron out too, it might also be late.

* * *

Chapter 29

A spot of cold kissed her brow, drawing Inara out from the soft black behind her eyelids and into the quiet of night. The change seemed little different; the world was muffled, all sensations dampened. She couldn't see anything, suspended between and outside her own awareness, at one with everything and nothing without distinction. Scattered stars appeared above her, first a few, then many, until they filled the entire sky. Inara admired them, shining across the distance, spiraling down towards her as she stood looking up.

Slowly features began to emerge, a sense of herself then her surroundings. An elegant marble bridge over a koi pond in a frozen garden, leaves and branches glittering and fragile, like glass. The frost had traced beaded swirls over everything, over her skin, patterns over the long skirt of her powder blue dress.

She had walked this path before, during her training days. Her students would have loved this. Girls and boys conversing like adults under the cherry blossoms about their studies, about art, music, theatre, philosophy, skills they were practicing; chattering like children about teachers and companions they admired, the whispers of intrigues they had overheard. The Guild taught acolytes self-control from the time they were twelve, but some took more to those lessons than others. Inara had primly declined to engage in such sport, but her friend Nandi had an enthusiasm for gossip, and made a game of getting Inara to blush.

Nandi would always sneak the acolytes up to an unused balcony in the Summer Temple to watch the the Kunlun Gala, a whirling masquerade of feathers, gemstones, and colour against a backdrop of gilded murals and flowing calligraphy. There they would speculate about which of the debutants would approach each habitue - long time clients and former companions selected for the honour by the chaperones. The habitue were relatively unchanging year to year, chosen for patience and tenderness to ease new companions into the rites, and most of her friends had their own favourites. Invariably, some of the other students would share an interest, or disagree about suitability, and the resulting argument would result in the concierge finding them and chasing them back to the dormitories.

Everything was just as she remembered, like a painting in a museum. This was House Madrassa, or Sihnon, or maybe an approximation at Sheydra's Training House on Burnet. Perfect. Beautiful. Lonely. They'd both left for the Rim and it had been years before they'd seen each other again, and by then, Nandi had been in trouble, and then it had been too late. Inara no longer belonged here. Maybe, for all she had tried to follow her mother's example, she never really had.

The snow dwindled and the lull of darkness enveloped her again, unexpectedly warm, consoling and soothing. She let it carry her away from her regrets and anxieties, the memories and pain fading with it. Her limbs grew heavy and then only her breath remained, until she forgot even that.

Some duration passed unmarked by time or conscious notice, and then someone rolled half on top of her. She blinked, immediately taking in the sight of her curtains in _Serenity_'s shuttle, the elaborate fretwork of her cabinet, the floral motif of her empty flower vase and the little clock arranged on top of it. Whoever was nestled against her shifted again with a masculine grunt and pressed their face into her shoulder, one arm thrown over her waist, then stilled again. She considered her options. He might have rudely jolted her, but a companion was always discreet. She eased herself away from the body against her back and the hot air against her neck, then raised herself up on her hands to survey her visitor.

Oh. Long eyelashes beside a proud aquiline nose, a mess of sleep-tussled hair... Mal, lightly bronzed and shirtless, dozing in her bed beside her, laying under her scarlet quilt. Or rather not quite under, her movement had pulled the covers to his waist. As her gaze trailed over the muscles of his broad shoulders then down his chest and stomach and lower, she started to wonder less than chaste thoughts and turned away quickly, cheeks burning. She couldn't help glancing back. There was nowhere safe to rest her sight without wanting to scrape her teeth along his neck and press her lips against the stubble of his jaw, not even his sweetly unguarded face, normally so tense.

Mal woke then, his blue eyes suddenly on her, tired but bright and alert. He raised his head and reached out to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squinting as he automatically searched around for threats, his mind not quite so aware as his startle response. An inarticulate question, asking if anything was wrong. The man could be sprawled out in the infirmary, Simon holding up the newest extracted addition to the captain's lead collection, and his first thought would still be for whether everyone else was all right.

She couldn't help teasing him, not when he was like this. "You're in my bed," she observed.

No danger here. The anxiety left him, and so did the underlying drowsiness when he found her again. He studied her, a different kind of intensity, then he looked around her shuttle again with faked surprise. A nod. "Seems right to me," he smirked, and sat up against her pillows, tucking his hands behind his head.

Some of her amusement faded at his show of self-satisfaction. Careful. She must not show how she enjoyed his good moods, his company and banter. If he felt too welcome, he'd take that as an all-hours invitation to burst into her life and love her. And then he might never want her to leave. "_Why_ are you in my bed?" she asked.

He kicked his legs (disappointingly clothed, she noticed) out onto her sheets in an infuriatingly smug and endearing way. "Couldn't withstand my charms no more," he guessed.

Inara rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "Yes, that's it exactly. Only entirely backwards." She reached for a long cerulean robe, hung unobtrusively behind her drapery by her bedpost. An extra layer of defense and distance was needed if they were about to start another fight. Or if he was going to continue being so irresistibly winsome.

A shrug, a flash of hurt before he looked elsewhere. "You tell me. It's your bed, up to you whether you lie in it."

There were a number of reasons, none of them really voiceable - _Because so many people are gone. Because my idealism was untrue. Because I feel lost, and we could find our way together. Because I don't want to hurt you, but I need you. _Inara sighed and gave up. "I don't think either of us know why we're here," she answered, her bare feet cold on her rug as she slipped into the ribbon sandals from beside her nightstand.

She began tidying, self-conscious under his scrutiny as he watched her, bells chiming at her ankles. There was nothing out of place to occupy her. Normally she'd prepare her morning infusion, then dress, style her hair, and apply her makeup, none of which she could do while Mal was in the same room, not without his commentary about her companion wiles. She turned to him, about to make a futile offer of refreshments despite herself, to find he had followed her. He was much nearer than she expected - she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, his eyes half-lidded, tracing her startled face, her parted lips. "I'm glad you are," he said, finally.

Her heart did a strange leap, fluttering, a shiver traveling over her skin where the breath of his words swept over her. A half step towards the tea set on her end table and familiar ceremony and ritual. He caught her around her bicep, stopped her.

"Here's what I don't understand," he murmured, low and resonating. "There's nobody lives forever, there's just making the most of our time." His expression was without any bitterness; curious, sincere, concerned. "So why are you always pushing me away?"

An ache crept through her, a pang of grief and longing. He'd lost so much already. "I'd only hurt you," she told him. She already had.

He was altogether too interested in that offer. "Like with leather and collars?" Mal gave her a crooked smile, something very like desire underneath. "I could be into that." She sent him an exasperated glare over her shoulder, and he pulled his hand back, regretful, before she could snap at him. "I'm not exactly blameless myself. We do both like to rile each other." They each had their troubles and secrets, were sometimes taciturn and defensive. Not always, of course. Certainly not at the moment. There was a connection between them that defied all their attempts at distance. A truth, an admission she so wanted to hear, and she could not bring herself to interrupt him this time. He drew closer still. "And I'll take that," he asserted. "A day, a night, several, a lifetime. Even when all I have is the memory of you." A plea, an oath, the last part rough, whispered. "It'd be worth it."

Her resolve broke, and she as much reached for him as he pulled her against him, as he wrapped his arms around her, as she stretched up to touch his jaw, his cheek.

Someone sighed in impatience at them, and they broke apart. River! Standing not three feet away from them. How much had she seen? They were in the galley somehow, in the lounge off to the side, standing among their choice of furniture and cushions. Everything was bright, golden, too warm. The everyone was at the table, and apparently hadn't noticed their sudden lapse from sanity, Wash telling a joke while Book approached with a pot of breakfast. Not just the crew - Nandi and her mother were seated among them, enjoying the morning antics on _Serenity_. Children were underfoot, playing around the legs of the adults and ducking under the chairs, one a little girl with her own colouration, clutching a stuffed unicorn.

"I promised," River told her, dark eyes flicking past Mal, inspecting Kaylee's stenciled vines curling up the support beam. "Somewhere always summer." She shook her head. "I promised, but we have to go."

Inara worked to steady her breathing, to find her control. She was burning, trembling. The captain exchanged a glance with her, then moved away to mingle with his crew, nonchalant. _Sāohuò bùyàoliǎn de dōngxi_! How could he leave her as if nothing had just happened?

"This is important," River interrupted again, demanding her attention. The teenager scanned her face. "All responses normal. No permanent damage," she assessed. "Reestablish equilibrium to restore full function."

She didn't know what that meant. "River, you aren't damaged," Inara tried, guessing, an attempt to reassure the girl. She tucked some of the long straight strands of dark brown hair behind River's ear.

"You have to understand," she insisted, grabbing her hand, pulling her out from the sofas and towards the passage to the dimly-lit back corridor. "You'd die to save him."

Mal returned, sensing something wrong. "What's going on?" he asked, eyes sliding between them.

"He'd do the same," the psychic told her. "You'll see." She looked apologetic. "It won't be painless."

They plunged into the darkness beyond.


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30  
The Alliance labcoat inspected the boxes on the shelves, each in turn, the storeroom lit up as brightly as the hall outside. Soon as the selection was only just set out on the counter, the low thrum of a pressure wave gave a hello from off to the side, and the medic dropped, out cold. Captain Reynolds rose from where he was crouched between some crates. No sympathy for the headache the man would have. Mal might've been wearing stolen colours now, the black and purple uniform of a marine Federal, but former and still defiant insurrectionist he was, his hand was itching for his Independents-issued service pistol from the war. Even that might be too good for these folks.

He stepped over the self-righteous fallen, plunked the sonic rifle down as he pulled out his army knife and a radio handset from a pocket in the tactical vest. "Diazepam," Mal read off, and broke the packaging seal, pulled out a vial of unhealthy looking pale yellow. "This the right medicine?" he asked, doubtful.

A burst of static. "_Diazepam_," his own fugitive doctor mused, and Mal could just see the boy's thoughtful frown. "_But that's a sedative_."

And that would be no help for Inara. He put the glass back, and considered his informant, sprawled out limp and lying at his feet. Some plaything, tossed aside and abandoned. Young, gangly, mousy haired, lightweight. Easy to hoist up against the trestles, hang him with some engineering tape by the wrists, the ankles. Wheezing around a cinched garrote. Less like the expected monster. Maybe even a real human being.

"We always treated the wounded," Mal commented idly as the charlatan stirred in discomfort, looked around dizzily. Then the Alliance doctor saw him, and jerked alert, though he at least had the sense to not tug on the bondage and bring the whole shelving unit down on him. "Wasn't that we were fighting against your soldiers - that was more about survival. We just had all these values and principles, and they weren't gonna uphold themselves." Less so much after Shadow, of course, but he'd tempered the loss, the outrage, because of those ideals, because he just knew he was on the right side, so he figured he ought to act like it. "Sometimes the brass ordered us otherwise, but they usually weren't around long enough to make much everhow, and didn't tend to notice if some purplebellies got snuck in to our medics."

The doctor was glaring at him. "I heard - about - your butchers," he choked out, not more than a gravelly whisper.

Mal folded his arms. "Rim world medicine, sergeant. Our own troops got the exact same treatment, an' we lost plenty. Conditions in the field were near to _dì yù_and we had no medical supplies and little training. Most of ours only prior experience they had was with livestock." He stared the doctor down. "Do no harm." Mal shrugged. "Not so easy as it seems. I surely can make no claims over you." He lifted a clear vial of the Pax. "I really can't," he said, pensive, and jabbed the a syringe through the gel cap. "Then again, I got another code I live by. Do unto them as they'da done onto mine."

The hypodermic filled and the doctor paled. "What - You can't-" he coughed.

The captain peered over at his captive. "So you do know." A dangerous note crept into his voice as he advanced on him with the needle. "You knew all along, and you've been lacing your grenades and concussives. Letting the PAX spread throughout the city, all those good Alliance citizens, waitin' for the cortex to come back up so they can call in and surrender. Treating your own forces while everyone else is holed up in a church bound for kingdom come." He kept his volume level, but the tone got rougher until he was almost growling. "Or maybe that was your plan all the while. Come in with the answer to a problem you created, and be welcomed and cheered on like salvation."

"That - dilution - is harmless," he objected.

Did he really believe that? Dumb kids eating up every bit of propaganda thrown their way, told what to think and not using their own eyes and brains to see the proof otherwise in front of them. "What about those soldiers you're treatin' out there for exposure? They think it's harmless?"

The quacksalver shut up promptly. Mal watched him mull it over then sag in the restraints. "Your intentions?" he rasped.

He held up the auto-injector again. "Lookin' for the remedy to this for them out there who need it." Any minute now, the cortex blockade will be coming down, and his hulking brute should be around with their exit. If neither of them were persuasive enough, the PAX would be. Should have just enough time to get guided right-ways before the effects kicked in.

To his surprise, the medic chose to cooperate. "There - on the table." Mal eyed him, skeptical, then reached out and loosed the slipknot, with a warning look against shouting for the guards. The doctor caught his breath, almost thankful for the air. "The incapacitating agent is volatile, but it disperses quickly in air, diminishing to safe levels in seconds," he continued, his throat still hoarse over his polished Londinium accent. "When we do see an overdose, one injection is usually sufficient."

Even he could gather that much. "Overdose?" he scoffed, "There's people out there, dyin'." Mal planted his hands hard either side of the boy's head, the needle point very close to his scrawny neck. "I have zero time for games. So how about we try that again, this time with the truth. Even were I the trustful type, I ain't givin' them somethin' that'll make 'em worse."

"It won't," he answered, sincere but with a bit of growing exasperation. "Look, I'm not a biochemist, but that's what I've been administering, and it's effective up to forty-eight hours from onset."

Simon chimed in from his pocket radio. _"I think that might work_," he pronounced, unaware of what he was interrupting.

Mal glanced at the captive, who was watching warily. "Guess my second opinion agrees with you." He left the syringe on the shelf and went for his handset. Whatever had changed Simon's mind, he wasn't taking any chances. "She's unconscious, doc, she don't get much more sedate than that."

"_The diazepam will have the exact opposite effect against the Pax_," Simon insisted. "_How much is there_?"

"'Bout a whole case, couple dozen fingers worth," the captain apprised.

"_Get as much as you can. There's no telling if we might need more of it when all this is through._" That was a fact. Entire planet of Ezra might need some of the medicine, if the Alliance kept up their pacification efforts. Mal nodded to the other doctor, picking up the roll of tape and ripping off another piece.

The medic fought against the bindings a little. "Hey, wait -"

Couldn't untie him or the alarm might be sounded. He shrugged and muzzled him again. "Sorry, doctor. Got me another appointment to get to." He grabbed the box from the counter and hustled his way out to the hallway. "We only have one shot at this," Mal said into his comm, "You're sure?"

Simon answered with all the pride of someone who'd just figured out a contrivance of a puzzle. "_The Pax shuts down an important neural protein, the NMDA receptor, which is essential for nerve impulses and signaling. At lower doses it induces a mildly euphoric state, at higher doses it causes hallucinations and eventually a complete loss of self-awareness. In the meantime, it displaces glutamate, which begins to accumulate_."

"The what?" He was moving casually now, but quick, checking around the too bright hallway for anyone who might stop him, especially the lab where those scientists were working with all the chemicals.

"_Glutamate. It's one of the essential amino acids, the building blocks of proteins." _Simon explained. _"And it also happens that glutamate is an important neurotransmitter, a_ _substance that excites the neurons. Stimulates them._" A slight hesitation. "_I thought her genetic condition had manifested, because of the amount of glutamate in Inara's blood samples after she collapsed. And that's the biggest danger. Glutamate activates a lot of other neurotransmitters._"

"Wouldn't that make her more alert?" Mal asked.

"_It kills the brain cells," _Simon answered grimly. "_Not right away, the neurons can resist high levels of glutamate for a while before the condition is irreversible and permanent damage occurs, but they become flooded with ions. It would be like having a non-convulsive seizure. For days._" The horror of that sunk in. Inara. That was what was happening to her. "_If they survive that, then they'll either continue to be catatonic when the initial dopamine spike from the PAX falls, or, if their dopamine stays elevated, their behaviour will become erratic, increasingly aggressive and paranoid_."

Reavers. "And we can save her from that." Wasn't a question that time.

"_The diazepam will indirectly compete with the PAX and moderate the glutamate, dopamine, and ion flow,"_ the doctor said. There was a smile in his voice. "_We can save her_, _Mal_," he confirmed.

There was something else too, something knowing, an assurance that bothered him. "Tell River and Kaylee to have us ready. I want us off world soon as the fuel we got hits the tank." He didn't wait for the boy's response, went radio silent. The less he hoped, the less likely he was to have those hopes yanked out from under him. He strode out from the vault doors into the brisk desert night. Gorramn Alliance. Thought that the bigger and more intimidating and technological something was, the more security it had. He rounded the corner of the bunker, where the armored transport they'd hotwired was parked.

He popped the driver's side hatch and tucked the box under the chair for safe keeping. His browncoat dropped onto the cushion, and he looked up, almost thrown for a moment. "Jayne." The man was looking bored in the passenger seat, chewing on one of the liberated nutrient bars, one big paw curled around the wrapper and the other around a laser rifle. Mal thought he might've been gone already with their bounty. "Any surprises?"

A siren rose, blaring out over the tired camp. Jayne rolled his eyes. "Just had to ask, din'tcha," the mercenary huffed at him, like this was his fault. The captain guessed it was his luck at least.

Mal glanced in the back. Empty. Two rows of seats where the troops would sit until they were deployed. Where were the saboteurs? They were to meet them out there for the rousing getaway. If they weren't there... _Only one place they could be_. He craned his neck back to look at the air control tower. _Just this once_, he thought, _why couldn't it go according to the gorramn plan_? If the girls failed, the antlion would still be in place, the cortex would still be down, and they would be grounded. Ripe pickings for the Alliance to march up and arrest them all.

He'd have to depend on Jayne. "I'm going after them. Get everything back to _Serenity_," he ordered. Something had gone wrong, as usual. But there was one thing he could ensure, and damned if he didn't.

The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "What, y'mean right now?"

"I'll find another way back." Even as he said it, he knew how unlikely it was. Jayne was staring at him. He understood. "Don't have to tell you what's at stake here." Begging off Jayne. Well, he could die proper now. His pride wasn't ever going to recover from this. "Do whatever you can to get that medicine out."

"Yeah Mal." Jayne swung himself over into the driver's seat. "I was there," the mercenary told him, quieter. "Saw Miranda too."

His throat tightened in gratitude, so he thumped the steel frame instead. "Go," he managed.

- - - - -  
Jayne scowled, hands clenched tight on the wheel to keep himself from fidgeting. Mal was taking his time a-rescuing. Probably stopped for a kitten on a ledge, then he'd do something stupid, like try to blow up the PAX and himself with it, spread it everywhere. If Mal somehow managed to not get himself exploded or gunned down, he'd come back and give hell over not following commands, but there was no-way no-how that Jayne would go up to _Serenity_ without the dumbass or Zoë would kill him. No matter how much life-saving medicines and acts of heroism he was bringing with him.

This job wasn't the most steady pay, and three years ago hadn't been even a month Jayne had been aboard that he'd seen the captain had no kind of clue about money or how to earn it. The crew had the skill, but Mal still went for the copper a dozen low profit work with all the circling vultures instead of the big takes with less competition.

Weren't so long ago all he ever wanted was one heist that'd keep him in coin and beer and cigars with women up to his waist for the rest of his days, but that'd changed. Rather than growing old and retiring, he could have _Serenity _and the crew for himself, keep on living how he was accustomed and go out in a blaze of glory.

As he'd thought about it more, being captain meant all Mal did for his share was yell a lot and shoot interlopers, and the more he thought he could do that easy. Be better at it, too; already kind of was, Mal's problem was he was soft-hearted when he should be hard, but Jayne never had any trouble intimidating or strong arming. There were sometimes he'd agree with Mal on one of his crusades, like that business on Miranda even though it'd cost them, but Jayne was just more practical and looked out for himself too. Couldn't survive this verse if a person didn't. Jayne even emblematized the interests of the crew more than Mal did, by always thinking on their wallets and doling out wisdom whenever Mal went astray.

Then he found out Mal wasn't bunked with all or even any of the womanly pieces of tasty they had around, mindboggling as that was, and wasn't sly and wasn't deviant, and that clinched the ineptitude. When Jayne was in charge, that'd be the first thing he took care of. Couldn't have a captain less than focused because he had the blue balls or because he was too busy trying to impress a skirt.

Finally one time he had his chance and took over, but no-one joined the mutiny or listened to him. So maybe his own ship and his own crew would obey. A loyal and wanton harem for him. He'd stay with _Serenity _until then, and he probably wouldn't even betray any of them when he left, unless someone got in his way.

He'd given some thought to the trio while the captain was setting up his ambush. Who wouldn't? Blonde twins with long legs and big chests, and Iris might've knocked him out before but least she was polite. If he just got Kaylee and another ginger, maybe that tricky Saffron woman who hated Mal, and they all forgot what clothes were for, he'd be made. That was, until he saw the three strolling towards his transport - finally - and Mal wasn't with them.

"This is our escape strategy?" June asked, like some gorramn queen who saw a spot of dirt on her chariot. "Leave it. We're stealing one of the gunships, when the cortex goes down they won't be able to chase us."

Jayne furrowed his brow suspiciously. "Where's Mal?"

Iris turned sad brown eyes on him. "He's been captured. Bought us the time to get away. They're taking him in a shuttle up to their big cruiser."

June crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I don't intend to let his sacrifice go to waste. Are you coming or not? I've had enough of this world."

And Jayne could understand that. He had the meds for his little brother, who was getting weaker and could barely breathe from the damp lung, and couldn't get there too soon. This world was a mess and looking to get worse, if it didn't tear itself apart altogether. And an Alliance military craft, with missiles and guns, that was traveling in style.

But Lena was twitchy, and was reaching for her sidearm. And something about this just wasn't feeling right. "Can't land an ASREV on a Firefly," he answered bluntly. "Got some important deliveries to make or some people I know're gonna die." Then he knew. "And seein' as how you called the alarm down on Mal, I don't expect I'd survive the experience. I got a powerful fondness for livin'."

They stared at him, Iris looking scared and upset, then June shrugged, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "That's a shame." Her sister Lena drew her carbine and trained it on him, and she copied the motion. June shook her head at him. "I'm just glad your captain is the one who took the bait. Now that they've found him they won't be looking for us." Her eyes flashed at him. "But that's only true as long as there's no witnesses left to turn us in."

Jayne grumbled and put his hands up. "An' what if I were to say I wouldn't?"

"I don't trust you," June snapped, something brittle and painful in her voice. "It doesn't matter either way, because I can't take that risk." He'd been threatened by many a desperate type before, but they'd never looked so small and broken to him before. "You don't know what it's like, what they did to us. An Alliance marshall turned slaver. We won't go to jail for this. We won't go back to the slavers. We're going far away, and they won't hold us down ever again."

Well, that was wishful thinking if he ever heard it. "Ain't gonna work," he said.

The anger was back. "Why not?" she snarled.

The explosion rocked them, but then a few bombs mixed with a squadron of fueled up and fully armed gunships would do that. Or, a squadron of fueled up and fully armed molten scrap. The fire worked it's way down the row along the fuel lines, and there were already people running towards the crisis from the canvas tents, shouting and hollering. Jayne hadn't exactly planned on going back to _Serenity_ and being blown out of the sky when they took off either.

The girls startled at the distraction, taking their eyes off him, and that was all it took. He revved up the anti-grav generators and left them in a cloud of dust.

- - - - -  
She'd stood over broken battlefields and among desolation before, even said goodbye to her husband in a lilac coloured wasteland. The night wind gusted around them as the stolen military skiff pulled up to the chapel, where Zoë was waiting with Simon, stoic by the mule. The doc had insisted he come, that he administer and distribute the miracle cure himself both as a moral obligation and to test the efficacy and look for side effects before trying it on Inara.

Jayne exited the driver's side, alone, climbed down the side of the transport to rummage through the cabin. The subdued merc dragged his feet over to them, passed the box of medicine over, then held Mal's rawhide coat and holster out to Zoë. Her fists clenched around the leather.

They were quiet a moment, then followed Simon in as he began seeing to the sick refugees. There was a group of them, separated, some cared for by family and the priests, some with no one, alone. The doctor worked down the line, administering the treatment, explaining and tending. Most were dehydrated after a few days in the dry climate, and would recover, but some, those who had been hit early on in the occupation, they had shakes that would never go away.

Zoë found herself sitting by the littlest patient again, the girl seeming asleep as the medicine worked. An orphan. Zoë held her and wondered how much more the Alliance could take from them.


	32. Chapter 31

Getting all Jungian up ins. Funny enough I don't actually put much stock in dream meanings, but River kind of justifies all this.

This one took a while, I'm not sure whether I'm going to be able to keep to my one month schedule anymore for Eidolon. We've reached a point where I only have the most vague idea of point A and B and not a clear idea about the path between them. I appreciate everyone who's been sticking with this despite the delays.

Edit: Thanks to EBFiddler for some suggested changes.

* * *

Chapter 31

There was a moment, breathless, rushing as the air parted. A meteoric ascension towards one small spark from amid the screaming inferno looming above, detached and blank before convergence. Nightmares wandered through tartarus; grasped, captured, victims dragged away trying to escape the needles and machines. Strapped them to tables in sterile rooms behind bolted steel.

They were pleased. A mistake had been corrected, and one of their more elusive subjects was within their grasp. _Ten years of carnage ended._ An accusation_. There are many kinds of monsters out there. None better or worse than others, just more self-aware._

"I don't -" Feeble denial, spoken in tandem.

_"Yes you do. I know you do_." Painful truth, haunted by the past. They could wake up from nightmares, but not from reality. Not from what they were and what they'd become. The leviathan emerged and swallowed them.

Then she was River again, standing in the cold harsh-lit parallel. Outside they were planning, and waiting, as the lounge function demanded. She had to hurry. Prove them all wrong. They'd saved the dawn rose from the frost, and this time the spindle would wake her. She settled on the perch like a little bird and whispered in sleeping beauty's ear. "I'm going to tell you a story," she whispered.

- - - - -  
Inara was lost. The abyss crushed around her so she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She was abandoned and alone, hostage to her fears. Sinister shapes hovered at the edges of her sight, and her only company was a repetitive echo, dripping water and a rhythmic beating rendered in electronics like a measure of her life.

"_It's a fairy tale_," said the voice. "_Because I'm -_" A terrible piercing screech rose to drown out the explanation, like feedback from over the cortex, and a girl fluctuating between an alarming mix of children's laughter and sobbing.

"_River_?" The thought filled the space around her like a shout. The air stilled, dying down to a low murmur of conversation.

_We were deceived. But how? This capability was always there. Everyone has a shadow, repressed feelings hidden by outer conduct, growing ever denser the brighter the surface is. This is the danger of descent - the dissolution of the persona, falling prey and possessed by an emerging and overwhelming violence. _

___It consumes them. They'd slit their throat to spite their neck, and gnaw their arms off rather than be shackled._ They are as much a threat to themselves as they are to everyone else.

_Dope him._

River continued despite the interruptions. "_Once upon a time there were three families, separated by a pretty blue ocean_."

In the background was a high pitched hum rising in scale, whining both expectant and demanding. A charge and a discharge. _No response. The files suggested this might be an issue. Again._

"_But they were bewitched_," the teenager narrated. "_One brave but reckless, another with grace too gentle, and the last cursed with curiosity. The clever little sister would lose her mind, the princess would fall into an endless sleep, and a courageous knight_ - " she paused dramatically _- _"_would become a beast_."

She could hear another tense discussion, just barely, fainter than the others, as though farther away. _Reavers ain't men. Or they forgot how to be. Now they're just nothing_.

_You saw them then?_

This was important, Inara realized. A memory? A message? A warning? Inara wasn't sure yet. She couldn't quite focus on any particular topic, but they all seemed related.

"_One day the ocean grew jealous. Swelled and knocked down all the castles. Swept everyone away and they almost drowned. Dulcinea would not revive_."

Then she remembered. Bright lights, and a terrible darkness. Anxiety gripped her. Was she there?

_Kinda darkness you can't even imagine. More'n even the space it moves in_. Mal?

"_The hero found a way to break the enchantment, and she pricked her hands on the rose thorns, but too late; he had to swim against the rising tide to reach her, and she jumped in after him_."

Where was he? If he wasn't with her, then chances were he'd tried something incredibly stubborn and noble and foolhardy. What had happened to her? What had he done? She had to find him before he hurt himself. But the bleak atmosphere wouldn't permit her. If anything, it grew thicker around her, as though to stop her.

"_And that's when they got them. Sterile blue gloves that came out of the black_. _Put electrodes in their heads and shocked them until they couldn't scream_."

A white flash burst over them, the glow lingering on her skin. Inara managed to break free, gasping as though she'd been submerged in water, or perhaps trapped in a deep faint or sinking through tar. She heard them talking again, closer and too real. _Again. Higher this time._

She was treading, still fighting, and then she was in safe hands, warm around her own, drawn upwards as though on steel wings. Lightning split the gloom before her, and the stars fled like hopes she thought she'd resigned. Electricity crackled along beneath her like roots, spreading out from the shining fissure stretching from the sky, illuminating every corner and chasing away the memories. Her feet touched down, and she ran. Through a bright corridor, military and efficient, then a land of mist and snow, through the rising water cold upon her soles.

A low growl followed her, hurrying her footsteps. She thought she was being hunted; she wasn't sure how far she had gone. Not far enough. The snarl rose to a roar, and the ground shattered, burst apart in the firelight, mistaken momentarily for the sun. The smoke drifted from the ground around her and she gasped against its acrid taste. Inara passed the ghostly dead, silent in their uniforms and staring with glazed eyes shining out from the night, an army of two sides bound where they had fallen, coats and scarves, jackets and armor. She chased the deep rumbling bird-call of an engine, aflight and burning, a torch to light the way through the trenches and the tunnels like catacombs.

Then she was there at the airlock, _Serenity_ lying in a hollow like a wreck in its grave. River was waiting for her, the guardian of the gates - _"I'm just the medium_," she corrected - dressed in a girlish sundress and pigtails. "_Hurry_."

- - - - -  
The captain was aggravating as a brother. He'd seemed like a fool at first, recklessly cheerful and a wild card, bantering friendly with everyone even across trenches with the purplebellies. Soon, Zoë was just one of the boys of the 57th Overlanders to Mal, which was better than she could say for her other C.O.'s and squads. She figured he was just reserves and would harden up or die, until she found out he'd joined up around the very beginning and had already survived two and a half years through some of the worst of the earliest fighting.

After that she thought maybe he was unhinged, but that was also just how he was. He understood all the death, talked about friends he missed, his lost family back on Shadow, and prayed over every life he took. Somehow, nothing he'd seen had dimmed whatever it was about him that had rallied soldiers around him. He acted like he was on adventure, his first time off-world. Everyone was good people and all the life or death was just heroics, to last until the war was over and the Alliance realized their mistake.

Only Serenity Valley and the surrender had managed to put a damper on his mania. Early on there hadn't been any anger or hate yet, just a bone-deep shock and weariness. He'd been there for them, keeping up morale as negotiations dragged on and disease and desperation set in, but he'd also grown inwards, and since then never showed his lighter side much. As he became more distant, and then when they were separated into the internment camps, Zoë understood how much just a familiar face and friendship and Reynold's jackass brand of horseplay had kept them alive. Barely, and sometimes dropping some very unwanted excitement on them all, but they survived, because if a _yě shēng hú ní _like that could manage, they none of them had any excuse dying.

Entire month she'd been so angry with him, and angry with herself, because somewhere down deep she couldn't disagree with the choices he'd made, even with what they'd cost. Looking back, he'd never done anything truly unforgivable. Until _this_. Until he hadn't come back, and she was left alone to remember.

Soon as they were back and the hovermule was secure, Zoë called Kaylee down from the engine room while Simon administered the treatment to Inara, then they regrouped in the cargo bay for a debriefing. Mal might've been a natural leader, but Zoë wasn't promoted to corporal and second in charge under his command because she liked to sit around and look pretty. She gave Jayne a hard look. Best get the hard part over with so they could get moving. "What happened?"

Jayne looked angry, and not a little defensive. "Got tricked by them women. They cried wolf, Mal fell for it and ran right into the Feds," he admitted. Grudgingly, like he was stung by the betrayal. "Figured somethin' was up first, so he told me to get the meds to the doc. Then the _huǐ xī_ went gunnin' for me while they hauled him out to their flyin' fortress, an' here I am."

"_Yǎo rén gǒu bù lù chǐ_," she muttered. For a moment she wondered if Jayne hadn't been in on the plan, greedy for some pay-off, but then he wouldn't have shown up within shooting distance of her and wouldn't look like a pit bull that'd just been kicked and crawled up tail between legs.

Kaylee's fingers brushed over the coat, as though to confirm for herself, and then she looked around at them all like they had all the answers. "What'll we do?" she asked.

Jayne didn't bother to talk soft around the girl. "We leave Mal up there, they'll mind-bend 'im. Make him talk."

Simon spoke out. "Most of the Alliance forces are on the ground and the cruiser probably only has a skeleton crew." He checked with the former soldier for confirmation, which was granted, but if anything he only got more hesitant. "If River and I were to fake turning ourselves in, we could use that as an opening to get in and rescue the captain."

"No," Zoë answered flatly, at about the same time as a panicked shout - _we can't lose anyone else!_ She glanced at Kaylee, who was begging soul in eyes to protect Simon from his own magnanimity. Zoë nodded to her. "She's right." Wash hadn't died so Simon and River could throw his efforts away for a chance at capture and torture.

"The captain is annoying, insane, and I've had to spend hours patching him back together after some ill-advised plan," Simon argued. "He's my patient. We have to do something."

Zoë knew it. What had happened to Mal after he was taken to the _Ratched_, he'd shut down for a while and never fully came back. Mal'd gone along with these Ezra rebels into the lion's den, had been willing to risk capture, subject himself to that again, to sacrifice himself for a chance at getting off-world and to save Inara. She searched around the crew, cogitating for any other ideas, when she spotted River through the infirmary window. The mindreader suddenly looked over at her, before launching into another wild speech of some sort.

- - - - -  
_Serenity_, for once, was completely quiet. For as long as Inara had been on the ship, there had been a messy collection of oddities kept in the cavernous bay; cargo they hadn't found buyers for, but that Mal had at least kept somewhat organized and tied down for transit and safety. Now debris and overturned crates were scattered everywhere and gathering dust. The power had failed and the lights didn't respond to her movement, and the space remained grey, indistinct, barely enough to see, motes suspended in time as she made her way by memory.

There was no one in the common lounge or the passenger dorms, all in disarray, the furniture broken, fabric torn. Inara climbed the stairs to the galley - if she would find anyone, they would be there.

Yet, despite her expectations, she was startled when she saw them, vague apparitions just standing around the dinner table, motionless as statues. This wasn't the active lively scene she had left, but they were all there, except for one, her friends and children not yet born. "What happened?" she asked. They did not speak to her, but raised their arms lifelessly to point towards the front hall.

Inara took their direction, and somehow ended up in neither the front hall, nor the bridge. She would have approached Mal, at the apex of the helm, his hands planted on the glass as he stared out into the vast empty black through his reflection. A barrier that kept them safe from that terrible place of nothing.

He was there with her anyway, red and brown and in this same white expanse, standing away from her, braced against the far wall. Between them on the tiled floor, a dangerous-looking silvery katana stuck through a leather coat, almost auburn, and curled around a pool of scarlet; her own dress, her own self, their hands joined and so pale. The sight struck her, as sharply as a blade. They'd always been racing each other to an early grave. Now it looked like they finally crossed the finish line together.

She closed the distance, following the vivid footprints stained against the canvas. He was wounded, she saw, blood soaking his side, and she wasn't so certain the gown she was wearing had always been crimson. "Never thought there'd be jasmine perfume in hell." He looked over at her, and she almost flinched at the intensity of his blue eyes, the emotions that were almost always there - sad, tired, worried. "You shouldn't be here."

The sound of their pursuit was getting louder. _It_'_s time to go_. She tried to smile, a reassurance, not sure if it was for his benefit, or hers, and they faded away together.

- - - - -  
Dreams had a mind of their own. From the subconscious; underneath knowledge, shared awareness. Some danced in meadows while others opened locked doors. The prophets and philosophers from old saw significance in them, but only by granting them meaning. Such a landscape was treacherous as sand, shifting and burying, flitting across the mirrors to distort and shatter the image until everything overlapped. Her own fears in three echoes and relived through different perspectives. Answers in hidden tendencies, honed from pre-existing inclinations.

Not the first time, or the last. One could awaken from a dream, even from the dream of death. _What light through yonder window breaks_? With a fan of butterfly wings fair psyche opened her eyes, and was welcomed. The silt settled, provided the solution. "Be ready," River told her.


	33. Chapter 32

Bombshells.

A bit of clarification in here about Pax - I think Reaver victims act like Reavers themselves because the experience gives them pretty severe PTSD. Keep in mind as you read.

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Chapter 32

The central hanger was clean and featureless as to be expected. If he had his preferences, he might have more appreciated the functional and striking aesthetic of the open view from the transparent airlocks of a carrier, the long walkway floating among the stars. Perhaps. If he hadn't been raised in a claustrophobic underground complex.

Two officers were waiting at attention in the mostly empty space, standing a distance specified in an operating procedure manual appropriate for the circumstance and the docking code used. A blonde traffic controller in her greys. The other, Captain Teram Baker, a man built like a marine in a grey naval uniform; tall, lean, square jaw, and a brown regulation haircut with somewhat flinty eyes. The Operative approached them.

"Ensign," he acknowledged. She processed his identification with an attitude that could only be described as politely bored, and almost managed mild surprise when she saw his full security clearance. She hesitantly saluted, and he inwardly sighed at the all-too-familiar confusion. "I have no rank," he explained to her, before she could attempt to ask. "Nor any name, and you would be advised, after this conversation, to consider that I am a figment of your imagination." Little more than a shadow, easily forgotten, and if what he'd heard about this facility was accurate, everyone stationed here was heavily modified and could be remote wiped or commanded as necessary. Parliament was very serious about controlling dangerous information and security leaks, and almost as serious about not wasting any more resources than they had to.

"O-of course," she answered, dubiously, and carefully swallowed the 'sir' that she was trained to add. She exchanged a look and a nod with her supervisor, and was dismissed. They none of them had any idea how easily they could disappear.

He was on the clock now. Nine hours from that reading, a notification from over the cortex would reach the citadel on Londinium, confirm the tracking data from his stolen transport, and another nine hours later the manhunt would begin. The ranking officer fell into step, and the Operative allowed Captain Baker to play the diplomatic tour guide and escort him to the turbolifts. "Welcome aboard," the man greeted. "My apologies for the extra scrutiny. We've just captured the leader of a terrorist cell. Can't be too careful."

"You have Reynolds?" Monitoring military chatter as he traveled had revealed the new impossible situation the small-time freighter crew had gotten themselves into. Their ability to appear at the center of chaos was nothing short of astonishing.

"Apprehended him about an hour ago planetside, after an expensive bit of sabotage. He managed to take out our ASREVs on the ground and steal some important medicines." Baker frowned, either out of annoyance at the sheer bravado of the act, or perhaps just now wondering why his superiors had dispatched an assassin to his flagship. "Is he the purpose of your visit?"

The less said about his intentions the better. "I'm looking for the fugitive River Tam. Reynolds has information I need," the Operative answered.

A nod, and the lift panels slid silently aside to admit them. The broad circular platform was wide enough to transport an entire platoon at once, and the overhead the shaft seemed to narrow to some distant horizon at around the hundredth floor. "You're in luck. Our contractors think they may have located her. We should have her and all her associates shortly." His escort tapped at the controls in the central podium, and the panel lit up with a chime. The anti-gravity generators hummed as they began to move.

He kept his features calm. "I'll need to see her parents and fellow students as well. Where are you holding them?"

His counterpart stood feet apart, looking at the numbers over their heads as they ticked away, military at-ease in a stance that never looked particularly relaxed. Viewscreens flashed by of walkways suspended above a man-made chasm, lined by thousands of compartments. Like a glacial fissure, frozen in time. "Most of them are in stasis," he said, indicating the bioluminescent cells. "Reynolds is in quarantine," he explained, then added, at the inquiring glance, "Research labs. With the other Reavers."

The steel doors opened for them to a bright vault beyond, sectioned off into transparent observation cells and the path between them. There were people in them, seeming long forgotten, lying limp on the ground or against the walls of their cages, their eyes blank and distant. Most were in hospital garb, some in straightjackets. A few startled to activity at their entrance, dazed and aimlessly crawling around the white tiled floor like feral animals. Each cell was sparsely furnished except for a drain in the center. To hose down the blood and waste, he supposed.

"They're hyperviolent," the captain said, his voice almost hushed as though they could hear them. An understatement. "They can use anything as a weapon. We took out all the bedding and the heads to stop the Reavers from breaking them into parts. Then some of them chewed their _own limbs off _to sharpen the bones." The man shook his head wearily. "Now we just monitor their vitals and pump in a sedative when they start to rile up."

A malnourished woman suddenly bumped up against the barrier of her prison, then again, her glassy eyes staring at them, her jumpsuit torn, her face a mess of scarred over self-inflicted mutilation behind long scraggly hair. She slid down the glass the third time and stilled. One of her arms was missing. "There's no cure?" he asked, and already knew the answer.

"No, their minds are damaged beyond our ability to repair them. We can't even apply a neural-overlay or give them a new personality," Baker answered, with genuine pity but not without a hard edge. "They're also contagious. Anyone exposed to them becomes just like them." The captain crossed his arms, looking back at the Reaver woman as she silently watched them, two predators stalking their prey, like mirrors to each other. "If it were up to me, I'd have them all shot and the bodies burned."

The overlays sometimes did not integrate fully with the subject, leaving memory fragments or even creating split personalities. While the solution was still workable with conditioning and triggers, such as if the surgery and tampering had left a sleeper agent or assassin emotionally unstable, it could also be unpredictable. The Operative wondered how much the man knew, if he remembered anything about his past life. Then the tension broke, and Baker led him deeper into the labs, where they kept the more dangerous specimens.

- - - - -  
River danced out of the infirmary ahead of her, a stream of pronouncements about a sunrise as she secured her loose saffron dressing gown around her. On waking, Inara realized that she had fainted - _again_- in front of Mal. Her secret would be impossible to hide now. What must he think of her? The usual, she supposed, the damsel in distress in need of rescue. The memory River had shown her lingered. The past month, the medical clinic, the fear and confusion. Helpless. Drugged.

She had just enough strength to stand, leaning against the bulkhead, and she smiled wanly at the crew as they looked over from their intense discussion. The conversation stilled and she faltered under the scrutiny. Had she lost their trust? Simon's relationship with Kaylee was in turmoil because of her, and Zoë was frowning at her as though she had betrayed Mal. In a way, perhaps she had. They deserved the truth, when she could barely accept it herself.

The doctor forced a courteous smile. "Good to see you're awake," he said, seeming perfectly sincere, but there was something almost pained underlying the well-wishes.

As though prompted by Simon's show of civility, Kaylee stepped out from among the crew, her eyes rimmed in red, took in the companion head to toe as though searching for something, then strode over and buried her face into Inara's shoulder with an insistent hug. Inara met Zoë's steady cool gaze over Kaylee's hair, and the other woman gave her a curt nod. "Thank you," Inara answered, disconcerted.

Jayne was less enthusiastic. "Ain't still infectious, is she?" he asked.

Simon rolled his eyes. "She wasn't... No Jayne."

The moment was short lived, and Kaylee pulled away from her, suddenly furious. "Didn't tell _me_, didn't tell _the captain_, d'you know how scared you had us?" she ranted. "We're _s'posed _to be your friends!" The girl swiped her wrist across her cheek and turned aside in a huff.

"I told Simon," Inara offered meekly, prompting a few glares. She sighed. They all meant so much to her. She hadn't many options when she first joined them. Hers was a lonely road, carefully detached and maintained, a mercy for herself and others to lessen the ache of their parting. She never expected to be welcomed into their lives as she had. For their acceptance to be so appealing. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to upset any of you."

Jayne snorted at her. "Well that worked out all right," he commented, full of sarcasm.

Clearly not. But if they already knew, there was no use putting off reality any longer. "How long was I out?" she asked.

"About a day," Simon replied, sympathetically. Before she could accept his answer with disheartened resignation, he spoke up again. "It wasn't the Ataxia," the doctor added, "not this time."

She blinked. What? His statement carried the gravity of an even more serious problem. "Captain ran off to find some medicine for you," Zoë said, mildly. There was anger underneath her words, an accusation in the former soldier's narrowed eyes. "Went and got himself captured on your behalf in the process."

Her dream, River's warning. "I was afraid he might," Inara admitted. Why did he have to be so frustrating and imposing and stubbornly noble? He had always thought she needed saving. More than ever this would have confirmed his suspicions, and prompted him into reckless action.

That set Kaylee off again. "And now he's in the clink for us all," she complained miserably, "and apart from all the thievin' and explosions and shoot outs he ain't even done anythin' wrong." Inara wasn't sure if it was more to Kaylee's credit or Mal's that she could say that without any amount of irony.

"Not just any prison either," Zoë corrected grimly. "When we were first picked up after the surrender, Alliance wanted information we none of us had. None of us were in any shape for interrogation, half-starved, feverish and exhausted. Didn't stop them from trying to beat it out of us. So captain got the heat off the rest of us, volunteered himself for their attention."

"Violently, I'm guessing," Inara observed wryly.

"Got it in one," the corporal confirmed. "For that they flagged him for special imprisonment. Took him up to the _Ratched_. He won't talk about it, but we all heard rumours. Some of the inmates up there, they just weren't right. Savage men from the far edge, inclined to cannibalism and other such pleasantries." She thought a moment, then shook her head. "He had no living family anymore, they must've figured he wouldn't have been missed. But I still don't know why they stuck him in among them."

"I think I might," Simon interjected. "Most of the people on Miranda didn't turn violent; just the opposite, in fact. But if someone already had a preexisting condition the Pax might have exacerbated the problem, made them more susceptible to the other effects. Aggression, schizophrenia, personality disorders, anxiety disorders... and PTSD," he listed. "If doctors were looking for patients showing early signs of abnormal reaction to Pax, then any of those might have mimicked the symptoms and vice versa." Simon frowned. "Assuming they weren't also just selecting test subjects for Pax exposure."

"Might be," she agreed, grimly. "There were a lot of washouts from the program, I was with the Dust Devils when we started finding them. Most of them were _yōumíng_. Light's on, no one home. Traced them back to a hospital where they were sent to waste away and die." Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "Got there just in time for the fire."

"Cover-up?" Kaylee asked, eyes wide.

"Outbreak," Zoë answered. "Some of the patients snapped out of the stupor, went on a rampage. Alliance had to put them down." 30 million dead already. Perhaps the Alliance didn't think a few more lives would make any difference. "Mal crawled away somehow, found him in a ditch nearby. He seemed like another vegetable, but finally about a week later he looks up at me while I'm makin' soup, seein' how that was about the only way I could feed him, and asks me where the hell are we and why we aren't on the front lines. Didn't even remember the past year."

And he was back there now, because of her. Surely he had known he might be captured, but he had risked that anyway. Then again, she was about to do the same for him. "I've been talking to River," Inara started.

"She ain't goin' up there any more'n her brother is," Zoë interrupted with finality.

"No," Inara said. She gathered herself, all the poise and focus of her bearing and station compounded by her concern, her heart, and her love. "Not her. Me."

The first mate scoffed in disbelief. "After all that effort captain wouldn't want you in danger."

"Whether or not I try to help isn't Mal's choice to make," she insisted.

An echo rang through the ship, distracting, a sudden nervous fear descending on them as they raised their sights, Jayne and Zoë both already with weapons out. "We'll all go together," River intoned. Then, chilling: "They're here."


	34. Chapter 33

Hey everyone. It took me a while to figure out how I wanted to get from point A to B in the sense of the vague plot outline I have, so this is another short chapter that took a long time to write. But I think I've figured it out now, we'll see how it goes.

* * *

Chapter 33  
A shudder ran through them, and if Kaylee didn't know better, she'd have thought that the result of the doomsaying instead of the ship. Someone was trying to steal _Serenity _out from underneath them. She felt the engine object like a skipped heartbeat as they flubbed the start-up sequence, and then she wasn't shaking so much from fear anymore but outrage. The gall of them, touching the helm controls, sitting in Wash's chair, mucking about with the workings. Now they'd gone too far, couldn't just leave them alone.

Zoë waved them back into the passenger commons while she and Jayne covered for them. Their guns glinted, distracting and dangerous. _There'll be more shootin' soon_, Kaylee thought. River in a jumper dress, Kaylee in her overalls, Inara in silks, Jayne in a t-shirt, Zoë in her usual leather vest, not a stitch of armour and a few pistols and rounds between them against a fully armed SWAT team.

"Please, Zoë. Let me go out there. It will buy you time," Inara argued. Maybe she wasn't thawed out all the way. Kind of bedraggled, wasn't making sense and didn't have all her usual reserve. There was her grace though, all manners and gestures like a storybook princess in golden robes asking help to slay some monster.

Zoë gritted her teeth, frazzled and frizzy-haired and the soldier looking like she was trying to keep her focus and not slap the other woman. "They'll just kill you."

Once the purplebellies had River they were all dead. The shadows cast by the scaffolding and superstructure around the sparse-lit lounge seemed to hide all kinds of trouble. Some of the shapes were moving even, soldiers around the nook at the top of the stairs closing in.

Simon was talking to his sister, soothing, looking kind and handsome and wonderful but River didn't seem all there until she snapped at him. "It'll be all right, Simon!" River said, unconvincingly grumpy, then her face cleared. "Trust me." Kaylee suddenly wanted to fight, if just for Simon and everyone so that all those reassurances would be true. Like when they were facing down the Reavers again, and she'd tapped that same well of determination.

"Kaylee," the first mate called her back before Inara could say any more, nodded to the maintenance ladder down the corridor, tucked in behind the dorms and some old boxes of rags and ammo. "Get up to the engine room and stop the rotors."

"Can't." The mechanic shook her head, riding over the frown Zoë sent her way, "less'n you want us cratered. They'll have us in the air first an' we don't want to blind fire the engine. Gotta retake the helm." And she even had an idea how. "If we get to the access panel we can go right down _Serenity_'s center-line through the crawl space."

Jayne didn't look happy, not that she could blame him. She had to work in there sometimes, in the dust and spiders and space bugs. "Gonna be tight. Ain't exactly twig-like."

Inara just sighed at him. "I haven't heard _that _one before."

Kaylee tried to smile for them. "Captain did it the once when River sealed herself on the bridge and he had to talk her down. Should be okay, just bring up the back, case you get stuck," she suggested. Jayne wasn't much encouraged.

"May be our best chance for a rescue," Zoë agreed, "if they already sent out a docking request to the _Ratched_."

A volley of concussive waves burst from around the corner and Zoë ducked back behind the frame, looking for a clear shot. At least they weren't using the PAX-bangs.

"Put me back in that place," River said, "Little bluebird singing in a cage, puppet on broken strings."

Voices muddled the air around them. They had to get Simon and River away first, and Kaylee went to River where the girl had stopped, wide eyed with her head tilted to the side and listening. "River?" Kaylee asked. She raised her hand to her shoulder, about to talk her out of her fear. She exchanged a look with Simon who moved to help but River stepped away.

_Music_, Kaylee realized, underneath all the noise the soldiers were making. A cheerful jingle, something about the Blue Sun corporation's latest imitation coffee blend. _The intercoms! _"Zoë!" she shouted. Wake up and light the morning, the lyrics chanted. River lashed out in a fan-kick, a blur as she knocked Jayne's carbine aside.

"Gorramn girl!" he snarled and swung a backhand at her. She blocked then somehow she had the barrel of his gun in her hand and brought the stock hard against the side of his head, crumpling him like Jayne sized tin can. Zoë was sweeping her side-arm towards the assassin, who flipped the gun around and Kaylee found herself next to Simon, staring down the sights.

"River," Simon whispered, choked. His sister didn't even waver, in a staring match between herself and Zoë, who carefully dropped her sawn-off to the floor, not about to invite any reprisals. _Serenity _bucked underneath their feet like an objection, and Zoë lunged forward, hoping to catch the girl off guard but slammed herself into the steel frame. She lay there, dizzily, and two men in suits stepped over her and Jayne, flanking River. Kaylee recoiled, she remembered them, boarding Serenity while the captain and the others had been lead into an ambush, looming over her. They'd died. She was sure of it. But these two, they looked exactly the same as the pair who had attacked her.

"Secure them." The purplebellies rushed in around River.

- - - - -  
Simon had never liked flying, not when their chauffer was navigating through the floating twilight traffic of the Capital, and he liked it even less when a crushing vacuum surrounded them. As time went on, he'd gotten used to spending weeks off solid ground, long trips out of their way to avoid the common trade routes and patrols.

The five minute transit between Ezra and the _Ratched _was starting to look like the worst flight of his entire life.

The soldiers searched Jayne first without much trouble, one scanning his muscular bulk with a handheld x-ray device while three others held him down, apparently concerned that he might try to throw them off while unconscious. Not that their concerns were entirely unwarranted; Simon had often found Jayne an irritable and uncontrollable patient, and the ox-like mercenary was certainly strong enough. They methodically removed all contraband, accumulating an impressive pile of explosives in all sizes, the harsh-looking hand gun, an impossibly well-hidden back-up pistol, a knife, and an assortment of stolen food and medical supplies.

Zoë, however, could put up a fight even while dazed. She lashed out at the first woman that tried to handle her - the Alliance was good enough to process them by gender, but not enough to let them go, Simon thought wryly - a vicious strike at the guard's throat with the edge of her hand that left the other woman gasping on the floor. It took two more to wrestle Zoe to the ground and get her switchblade away from her, and Zoe only stopped struggling when they fired a stun rifle point blank at her. As her doctor, he tried to protest, but without any success. He'd have to perform a check-up later on the mother-to-be and the unborn child.

Their two best remaining fighters were down, and River wasn't in any condition to help them. He did not resist further, and Kaylee and Inara both submitted quietly to the search, giving up a pocket screwdriver, then a syringe. Once they were bound, numbing bands around their wrists and ankles, and the remaining guns and rifles were gathered, they were half-escorted-half-dragged out to the cargo bay and forced to kneel. More troops lined the walkways, ready to fire down on them.

Were they going to be executed before they even arrived? The last time they had been ordered to dock with an Alliance cruiser, the crew suited Simon and his sister up for EVA so they wouldn't be found. He spent the entire time clinging to the hull in a desperate panic, knowing that one slip and he would either be floating, or worse, discovered. The experience left something to be desired. River, though, had been delighted. His sister, the scientific genius, looking out into the unknown. The six year old who once redid his eighth grade math homework, the ten year old who inventoried the microbiology of the servant's quarters for the pun of it, the twelve year old who still skipped everywhere. She had beamed back at the stars, in a way he hadn't seen since she'd gone away to the Academy and the tortures they had inflicted on her.

The girl who he'd given up his life to save, restore, and protect, she was gone. No sign of her playfulness or intelligence or eccentricity or profundity. Just an automaton following orders, holding him at gunpoint without any recognition or familiarity. No hiding under _Serenity_'s wings this time, or seeking shelter with criminals, or a dubious settlement with an even more shadowy and inexplicable chaplain.

She stood with her two captors as they studied them, predators stalking prey. The ship connected with the _Ratched_'s airlock, the metal objecting to the impact like rolling thunder. No one moved. Waiting. Simon knew where this was going. Their previous arrest had ended with the Alliance slagging a derelict that had been hit by a Reaver attack. No one was to know what had happened on that ship. No one would have believed it.

He grabbed Kaylee's hand, fingers tangled with hers.

One of the two men in black suits gestured, and the soldiers pulled them to their feet, broke his connection with Kaylee. He tried to turn to see her, saw one of the agents brush his hand across River's forehead, like a father and child, and then she collapsed. The code phrase - _Eta kuram na smekh_.

His brother's instinct rebelled at the danger, even as a marine jabbed a rifle into his ribs. "What do you want with her?" he demanded, refusing to be bullied. Hadn't they done enough to her? To them? The soldiers pushed him away, down the docking bridge tunnel, but the inhumanly cold and menacing stares followed him.


	35. Chapter 34

I've been spoiling things too much for my beta readers lately, so I thought I'd toss this up as a surprise. Yet to determine if this is badly written. So much drama.

* * *

Chapter 34

Inara could not decide which seemed bleaker, their situation, or the sterile, featureless surroundings the guards escorted them through. The space was otherwise abandoned, and the unsettling desolation crept through her like frost warning of further bad weather. In the disquieting dreams she'd had, River had shown her a place like this in stolen visions. A glimpse, that had morphed into a surreal journey through frozen worlds and battlefields and tombs.

As a girl Inara had entertained herself with fairytales and stories about the spirit world. There, she could escape from the tower into the wilds. Then her mother crossed over, and the fantasy lost the appeal. Later she learned she had always been far closer to that world than she wanted to be, halfway there already; living, and in some ways already gone. She had been specially selected, and it wasn't as beautiful or lovely as she had hoped. Story of her life, really.

She knew this place like her last breath. If she should stay here, and allow her friends another chance, she would. She couldn't offer much else for them anyway. So it wasn't her fast approaching end that frightened her, but rather the prospects of who else she might find there with her.

Surrounded as they were, it wasn't until they had nearly passed through that Inara realized the foreboding gates had finally opened for her. The soldiers packed them into the lift tight, an oubliette of smooth steel walls. Another disappearance, unheard and silent through the black soundless and crushing around this prison. She was determined that would not be the fate of her friends. A blessing, that they were all standing so near; Kaylee was right beside her, and the soldiers were paying more attention to Zoe and Jayne and their penchant for brawling as the two gunhands slumbered.

_Serenity_'s mechanic was just a girl, barely into her womanhood, and Inara sometimes wondered what Mal had been thinking, letting such a dear heart into the dangers they faced aboard the ship. Yet Kaylee had proven herself time and again; there was a special kind of bravery to fly around on the edge of civilization with all the treachery and aggression out there.

Right then Kaylee was a bundle of shivering nerves, her russet hair ruffled and her cheeks smeared with oil from the engines she had been working on. With a little reassurance and encouragement, she wouldn't falter. Inara pulled Kaylee into a hug - over the shoulder, a suggestion of shelter - and absorbed those fears until the trembling subsided almost with relief. "I think they're just holding us for now," Inara speculated. They hadn't killed them yet, after all.

Kaylee drew from her warmth. A little reassurance and encouragement and she was better. "Sorry how I acted 'bout you and Simon," she said, voice still quavering.

Inara felt another pang of regret over the incident, but couldn't help a wistful smile and a surge of affection of the girl. Of all the times and of all the things to apologize for at the moment. She wondered if she would see them again after this. "I should have told you all," she admitted.

"Kinda see why you didn't though," Kaylee answered. Another thought, sadder. "Cap'n doesn't even know he saved you."

The companion demurred, her eyes half-lidded, a fan of dark sooty lashes to hide her small sense of victory. "Perhaps it's for the best." Inara carefully slipped the screwdriver she'd pickpocketed from one of the guards into the heart-patch adorned front pockets of Kaylee's turquoise over-alls, then concealed her syringe in the marigold folds of her silk robes. "Getting arrested and forgetting everything he ever taught me? I can only imagine that lecture." Her words belied unexpected pride at the stealth of the exchange. No, instead he would tell her that she was _not _a petty thief like him and that she should never stoop to that. In between accidental compliments and trying not to praise her.

She smiled at Kaylee, who grinned back, and she tried not to think of it as a goodbye, but a joke shared between friends. The soldiers moved them out from the elevators towards the cell blocks.

- - - - -  
Stars scattered in the night, coalesced from the stellar dust from a far away sun and others that came before. A spark, scintillating into a network, a stream, like the lights and streets of a city. Ghost images trying to live up to an ideal. Phantoms. Echoes. All in her head, cerebral impressions upon her senses, her memories. Cortex - shell, outer layer, surface, bark of a tree with brachiated roots and canopy. A sacred ash fed by the well lake and springs of wisdom, tended by the three maiden giants. There they lived, breathing myths, all beasts and mortals dying by the laws writ there.

Individual. Isolated. Connected. A cascade of electricity, whirling around her. The branches crackled against the sky like lightning. With a dedicated source, it would not short out. Beware all the _tiān xiǎo de _that might filter in though, bad influence on impressionable minds.

They thought she wasn't listening, too far under. She could hear everything, could never stop. Saw herself from the outside. Broken wreck and deadly assassin concealed behind dark curtains. The signals were crossed, needed to ensure her loyalty, her obedience. They had stimulated her temporoparietal junction, inducing another dissociative episode. Hadn't anticipated her defense. They had made her too strong. Suspended between here and there, simultaneously strapped to the chair and center of the storm. Louder here. Innocence under the malice, unaware of their actions as the would-be gods played with them.

She reached out into the current raging around her. The disruption sent ripples throughout the entire network, to each individual node. Land of butterflies and bluebirds and forgotten memories. A virtual reality, bound intricately to the other lives that sustained it, both the incorporeal and their changeling impostors. A suggestion arced towards her, seeking, imperative, invasive. They would drown her if they could. She intercepted the thought, and it unraveled in her hand.

These thieves, of both bodies and souls. Con artists down in the eighth circle with the vipers, smiling and biting. This could work both ways. Live by the sword, die by the sword. All weapons were double-edged.

Voices drifted to her as though on the breeze, other tortured students of the academy, friends, family. They imbued her. Her lifeline. Thread through the maze. Frustrate the devouring monster lying in wait. Need only follow it back and she would find them. She had her guide. Sialia - _Cho_, so insistent. All of them so desperate to reclaim what was theirs. Perhaps they were cheering her on.

Dive into the deep, dowsing herself for spirits. The shock might have killed her, quickening of synapses, but she knew the way back. Answer the rallying cry. The sea boiled, all of it away. They gathered to her, and she emerged, eyes open, released from bondage, and they followed her like fledglings down the hall.

- - - - -  
The Ezrans had been arriving for almost an hour now, grumbling and marching through the streets to gather, lit by the glow of the fuel fires behind the line of Alliance soldiers. At first when there had been a call away from fighting the blaze to deal with a situation at the north barricades, they thought they were just going to have to disperse curious civilians and turn looters away. Instead, they'd found a near riot that began jeering the moment they appeared along the wall.

The men and women of the regiment gazed out over the throng, their Iskellian laser carbines at the ready and growing ever more irritable from every shout directed at them. The lieutenant looked about ready to start yelling himself. "We're shining the light of civilization on this desert pit. They could at least be grateful," he bit out, gripping the rifle stock like a stranglehold.

Not that they could really understand any of it. "You'd think if they were going to try to insult us, they'd speak a language we actually know," Josie added. She saw Mick frowning as he ran it through the translator. _Dà huò lín tóu_. If he was concerned this was serious. "What're they saying?"

"Slavers, plague rats, curses involving goats," Mick answered with forced nonchalance. "And something about explosive sleep poison. They're demanding medicine."

It took Pvt. Haverson a moment to process that. "The flashbangs?" Josie asked, disbelieving.

The citizens had started to attack the roadblocks in a frenzy, working to tear the obstacles down and swarm the wall. A thrown rock nearly winged the lieutenant's ear, and that prompted him out of his indecision into frustration. "They don't like non-lethals, maybe they'll appreciate this," he growled, hand pressed to the speaker and microphone in his helmet. "Turrets, lay down scatter fire on my signal." He pulled his side arm and fired into the air, three times, rapidly. They surged forward, outraged and undeterred.

_Was that the signal_? Josie wondered. The civilians were now too close, the turrets would just slaughter them. She glanced at Mick, and they pulled their concussive grenades. A single red shot seared into the night.

- - - - -  
When last he had seen Captain Reynolds, there was fire in his eyes and soul. They had been adversaries then, a fight for survival, for unattainable ideals, for all the lives on Miranda, lost and forgotten; for revenge for an fleet destroyed, for an entire settlement of friends and an entire planet of strangers. Alliance justice had cut down both innocents and the unsavoury in its crusade by blade or bombardment alike; at the time, the Operative had not known the full extent of that guilt, had seen the atrocity brought to the skies overhead but not his own. Then he had witnessed the truth he had been sent to silence, forced to acknowledge what they had created and what he would preserve. The reavers attacking the fleet, all those dying were his own fault, his own failure, complicit with the actions of his superiors. There was no better world, only monsters.

From that perspective, their actions had been self-defense. Humbled, he had granted the crew of _Serenity_ pardon, and Reynolds, now merely an enemy of an enemy instead of his prey, had threatened violence if they ever crossed paths. The Operative promised he wouldn't. _There is nothing left to see_. The ship had rumbled free from the bounds of the ground and sky, and a former true believer had disappeared among the machines and rough hewn storehouses of the docks.

He was beyond redemption. So many times he had offered his victims an honourable death for the sake of the Alliance, and that had almost been his own fate. The captain had taught him the only reason for his continuing mortal defiance, however - to merely fall on his sword was too easy, and too painless, for the penance he deserved. His mind had been in a turmoil still, haunted by the ghosts of the lives he had been responsible for, the long list of his crimes.

They surrounded him again now like an arctic chill. This was a charnel house, and they were all reavers on either side of the glass.

The cell might as well have been vacant. Reynolds was a man who could lose everything and not be cowed, who endured pain and torture with alarming regularity. A larger than life personality, and yet imprisoned in this endless white space he should look so small. All of that irascibility and determination had been extinguished; no more roguish banditry, brave enterprise, or downtrodden dignity, only nightmares for company. The years seemed to weigh on the captain's beaten and haunted features, old hardships and the newer electrical burns drawn across his face. A lifeless body in an orange jumpsuit, left to waste away in the dangerous specimens lab. Shrunken to an empty husk.

Those blue eyes stared out from shadowed, skeletal sockets as the captain glowered at some phantom from the past. Reactions remained, instinctive; the prisoner had curled in on himself with his back to the wall, motionless and hunched over as though ambush were imminent.

The _Ratched_'s commander had left to prepare the other captives for his visit, and the Operative stepped through the invisible seal in the barrier. Reynolds tensed at the intrusion, both aware and not. Their gazes met, a sudden distrust and anger without recognition or reason. This response to the interrogation drugs was not uncommon; memory enhancers and truth serum could have volatile results on prisoners with violent backgrounds. One time the Operative had seen six marines struggle to carry away one man, uncontrollable and enraged by the horrors he had been forced to relive. He could still remember the screams.

Then Reynolds rolled onto his feet, trying to circle to one side, assessing, dangerous. This was no longer a man, but a feral animal. The Operative drew his blade in sorrow, a merciful scrape of metal. The captain lashed out in response, almost staggering into the deadly steel. Bare metal bit sharp and cruel as Reynolds ducked under the arc of the swing and grasped at the cold edge. A red gash opened unfelt along the palm of his offhand.

The momentum of the feint jerked the Operative off his feet and separated him from his weapon. He scrambled back up as the captain lost his balance and stumbled. The blade clattered to the ground, Reynolds skidded on his side to a stop, and did not, could not rise. Paralyzed. Weak. The sedatives had done their work.

He retrieved the blade, the hilt back in his hands like an old friend. A well placed boot knocked Reynolds over onto his back, and through the haze, a light of familiarity dawned as the man stared up at him. He coughed. "This your better world?" he asked deliriously, his throat harsh and raw from Alliance questioning and still too far gone to save.

The Operative shook his head. "This is," he answered. The captain jerked as the blade slid through his center, an apology at the tip of a sword. "Rest now," he said, and pulled the katana free, and wiped it with silk as he walked away, another life bleeding out behind him. There were others who needed to be saved as well.


	36. Chapter 35

I messed up editing about a week ago and accidentally re-posted an old chapter, so here's a new chapter a little early to make up for it.

Thanks to Aliasse and GR and EB and Wytchcroft for a bunch of ideas from the discussion board.

* * *

Chapter 35

"_Clear_," River announced, and Kaylee ripped the control panel off the wall in a shower of sparks.

- - - - -  
The Alleyne family tradition was one of stealth and survival and a hierarchy of command. She'd been raised like that. Yes ma'am, yes sir, right away. Only let her guard down a few times in her life. First time had been an early mission with a posse chasing some fugitive horse thieves, her before even her monthlies, but tall, showing signs of the woman she'd grow into. They'd been getting close, made their camp. Then one of the men with her had gotten some ideas. That'd been her first kill, and she hadn't thought much of it. Ended another man the next day when they found their targets, brought back enough of the bounty for some supplies before they left the world. Just regular life on the rim.

Zoë was alert or else. Even with Wash, at first. He was a flyboy, seemed to know everyone in every bar, a girl in every port, and if not he could make friends fast enough anyway. Took her a six months to notice his glances instead of the bushy mustache and the messy blond hair and the floozies, realize he was serious about her. After they started getting together, she slowly eased into trust, went back and forth on whether to be hard with him or soft. Soft won out most of the time. The man got under her armor like no one else, with his combination of jokes and silly sweet talk. Her wedding night with Wash, they'd both been drinking some, she'd been the most carefree she'd ever feel in her whole life.

Then Wash had been skewered by Reavers and a blood-splattered harpoon big around as the tree trunk it'd been carved from, because she hadn't been paying enough attention.

Life had taught her how to be ready for anything, even waking up with a concussion, or in this case, a concussion, hormones, and a bad taste slicking her tongue. Like finding out she was pregnant had somehow made it real, and now her body was catching up with a vengeance on what maternity was supposed to be like. Then again, maybe it was where she was, locked up in the brig, on this ship, that had her rolling out off the bunk before ever her eyes were open, sickened and steeled for a fight. Smelled like the Alliance, and that would have her on edge in her sleep.

Weren't any purple or grey in all this blank white, but they'd be around any time. She remembered how it was, ever-present from the time they loaded the remnants of the last stand onto a dropship like cattle, sick and injured and dying along with the healthy, all the way to when the prisoners were discharged as a show of amnesty. Only half of the POWs even made it to the camp.

Hera hadn't gotten ruined like Shadow, but the bombardment had played with the climate some. The protostar blazed down on its closest world as near a thousand combatants and sympathizers lined up single file at the gate for processing. Survive heatstroke, and they were given a number, pushed into a stall, then stripped and hit with itchy delousing powder. The officers and the troublemakers were then singled out for further interrogation. Some were killed resisting, those thinking the Alliance were intending worse and those with their minds too far gone to understand. Everyone else got two sets of prison orange to alternate days and were assigned to a work group. Guards and overseers were there for every roll-call and random search, inspection, and beating.

So her opportunity would come around to check on her soon, and then she'd catch them by surprise. Zoë slid along the bulk head, searching - no obvious seams, but her best guess would be opposite the bare frame pallet. She crouched, coiled for the first strike.

_"Zoë?" _

The question was indistinct and muffled, but unmistakeable. "Kaylee?" she wondered. Must be in the next cell over. That was handy; the little mechanic couldn't fight, but she could spring _Serenity _from the lockdown. Just had to free herself first, then Kaylee, and find the others.

She heard the panel workings open with a hiss and focused again, tensing, when the girl leaned into the cell like a daisy after the sun, head turning and hair bouncing until Kaylee spotted her. "There you are."

Her headache wasn't near so bad as concussion dreams about an unarmed flower-child waltzing through a gorramn fortress and legionnaires alike to her rescue. Reality had taken a whimsical turn. She pushed herself upright; no time for disbelief. "How'd you get out?"

"Hotwired the door open," the girl said, a marvel of engineering prowess distilled down to pure blithe and off-hand, a brave front to hide the note of anxiety. Kaylee was the only person in the verse who could still be cheerful even when nervous and hurried and every reason to be.

Zoë just nodded. Carefully. "Any alarms?" Shake of the head, hesitant but negative as she stepped through to the hallway.

A few Alliance harpies were just laying out there around an electronic console, purplebellies and faces to the floor. Eerie and motionless except for breathing. Almost like they were sleeping. "Somethin' wrong with 'em," Kaylee said, wringing her hands. "They're all like that. Every one." The girl looked to Zoë for her experience, for assurance. "Is it the Pax?"

She spotted some of their contraband scattered around the keyboard and moved towards the guard station at a brisk pace, searching while trying not to disturb the bodies or the glossies. "We ain't stayin' long enough to find out," she answered, and tightened her gunbelt.

Laughter rose around them, tinny with reverb. _"They wanted to play_." River and intercoms. Last couple times that hadn't exactly been an encouraging combination. They'd already be dead if River were hunting them, Zoë supposed. Alliance had just played the teenager's shattered mind like galanty, and her own skull like percussion. Was the girl recovered? She might not be herself. Scarier than that, a sleeper agent could be activated or influenced and even River wouldn't know until the trap closed around them. _"Queen of Hearts, double or nothing. Two down."_

An admission, maybe, for knocking out Jayne and attacking her, but no, Kaylee walked over to another set of controls. "Inara?" _In here_, the answering call. A few twists of a little turnscrew and the mechanic was stripping wires and rerouting circuits in moments. In all of a minute Kaylee had cracked the door security. Their curly haired lodger rushed out in relief and her greeting about lifted Kaylee off the floor. A genteel whisper of thanks, a squeeze, then released.

In the meantime, Zoë located the guard keys and was working on the handcuffs. No easy task on account of the numbing field, but she got them off her, the feeling returning to her fingers like pins and needles. "Let's get your hands free," she suggested.

"Oh! Sorry," Inara exclaimed, her own arms notably unbound, and turned to Kaylee. A flick of the wrist and the manacles dropped.

The girl whistled. "Y'learn that from the cap'n too?" she admired.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Mal's rather better at getting himself _into _handcuffs than out of them." Zoë appraised her. "Companion secrets," Inara corrected primly. As though the Guild was steeped in tricks out of a spy novel and that explained everything, and maybe it did. Surely put off any unwanted and possessive suitors Inara might attract. "Where is everyone else?" she asked, tentative as a deer tip-toeing out onto a frozen lake, and stopping when she saw the unconscious women.

Kaylee looked up at the ceiling. "River?"

"_Here."_

All the anger seemed so pointless now, over the war, over Wash. Life was what mattered, what she'd had and the future. Her husband, and her child, and the crew, and the captain, all of them. No matter how much she questioned, Zoë was true to them. Fiercely. Wasn't a blind loyalty, or conflicted. They'd been asked, had the option, whether or not to risk everything to do something right. Wash chose, same as her. She had to do the same again, one more time, she would. For her child. For her friends. "We'll find them," Zoë said.

- - - - -  
_Wham wham wham bam wham._The incessant pounding found its obnoxious match only in the tirade of Chinese cursing and insults issuing from the adjacent cell, and was only exceeded by its source. "Jayne?" Simon shouted.

The commotion paused for much appreciated and all too brief respite, then resumed, louder and and more adamant. "Snake eatin' _guī' ér zi_! _Yán xíng zhòng dian de líng chí _next to _him_!" Jayne bellowed. "_Zhòng ni men nòng si!_"

The sentiment was entirely mutual. Clearly the guards had a sick and twisted sense of humour. He sighed in aggravation and flopped down on the mattress in his cell, trying to bury his face and his ears.

No such luck. The man left him no recourse but sarcasm. "Maybe they can't hear you!" Simon snapped. The man-ape stopped. Had something happened? He lifted his head cautiously, then sat up when no more invectives were forthcoming. "Jayne?" he tried, his voice small.

"Simon!" Kaylee burst into his room and nearly tackled him. He was almost too shocked to process anything, but he had enough wherewithall to return her enthusiastic hug. Until he realized they were lying on a bed, the rest of the crew looking on in amusement, and they'd had a serious argument not more than a few hours ago. She extricated herself awkwardly, her cheeks flushed and looking embarrassed.

The doctor untangled himself from her embrace and composed himself. "Okay?" he asked her. She nodded quickly. _Tiān na_, River and the captain were missing. They had all been manhandled if not knocked out, and Zoë was pregnant. He scanned the rest of them, settling on _Serenity_'s first mate for priority triage. He should examine them all later. "Where's River?"

"_Diversion_." The intercom answered him. "_More to save_."

- - - - -  
Inara ignored Jayne's leer as she released him from bondage, and his grumbling at her as he begin looting the guard station and the bodies along with Zoë while she helped Simon. Kaylee was occupied searching through the logs, and so she was the first to see the vast containment chamber, to stand on the stair landing between the two sections.

Light flickered along the edges of the forcefields, glimmering squares refracted like shards of ice, a transparent maze spread out across the expanse. The tormented denizens of the quarantine eyed the progress of the visitors, prowling along the barriers hungrily. For a moment, she could hear only her own breath, her fears, and the whispers of River's prophecy floating over both. _"But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain..._"

The others joined her, cautious as they spotted the prisoners. "Reavers," Zoë confirmed gravely.

Jayne stopped outright, refusing to go any further, but Inara darted down the stairs two at a time, afraid of what she might discover. Her friends tried to call her back, but she had desperation guiding her steps. An urgency like a half-remembered nightmare hurried her, a strange dream becoming all too real. _"And fast his blood was flowing, and he was sore in pain..."_

She found him amid a streak of red in all the white, where he had collapsed on the far side of the lonely room, staggered footprints crimson around him. Inara pressed her hands against the clear wall between them, a ripple of static crackling over the surface as she reached for him, searched for an opening. Then she was through, scrambling to him, his name a mantra on her lips like a prayer, her eyes stinging.

Too late, one too many times. How often did she have to see him sprawled and lifeless? Fool, dear fool, always sacrificing without any thought to himself. She did not crave his chivalry, his suffering; she wanted peace for him, restoration, his warrior soul becalmed and healed. He persisted despite his tragedy and gave her spirit enough to fight for the short time she had left, even as she wished to spare him from further losses. Now he was fading, and Mal would take her hopes for him, and for herself, with him. She had killed him, as she feared, and despite his best efforts she would die anyway. A glimpse of his injuries, and she half stumbled, half knelt by his side, stricken herself by the sight.

She laid her palm over his heart. Still warm, pulsing with life, seeping into her fingers. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, both relief at his survival and grief at his condition; his face was marked with fresh bruises and burns. "Oh Mal," she whispered, a breath struggling past the tightness in her throat. "What did they do to you?"

Mal jerked and startled at her touch, and for a moment she thought he was having a seizure. She pinned him, devoting her full body to the effort of trying to keep him still, from doing further harm to himself. _"And heavy with his armor, and spent with charging blows_..." River almost sang.

"Don't you dare!" Inara said, fiercely, trying to hold onto him as he seemed to be shaking himself apart from within.

His eyes were open, wide, shocking blue and almost moreso from the hurt, and she stared back, trying, begging for him to focus on her. She saw then, his mouth moving, voiceless, her name - _Inara_, _Inara_.

"I'm here," she called back, and cradled his face in her hands, but he recoiled, and she realized then that he couldn't see her, as though trapped in a memory. He wasn't convulsing, he was struggling in his confusion, weak from the blood loss but still almost strong enough to overpower her. "Mal, it's me, I'm here," she insisted.

"Inara," he managed, almost a croak, turning his head to each side trying to find her.

Suddenly she was resolved, she wouldn't leave him forsaken in wherever horrible place his mind couldn't escape. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders and before he could shrug her off, she pressed herself against him, slid herself up to close the distance between them and pressed her lips to his, as though she could breathe life into him. His chest hitched, struggling for air, and she broke off, laid her cheek against his, and murmured into his ear. She wasn't sure what she said or even if he could actually hear her, but he slowly stilled, breathing her in, her hair and skin, the jasmine scent of her favourite bath soap heavy in the air around them, soothing him.

She felt his arms enfold her, and she stayed like that a moment, then pulled back, and this time he watched her. A swallow, uncertain. "This real?" he asked, and she nodded. He glanced around, taking in their surroundings, and he didn't like what he saw. "No," he said, shaking his head with renewed horror. "No, not here. Anywhere but here," he pleaded.

Inara blinked at him. "We're going to get you out," she promised.

"Not me!" Mal objected, "You!" He winced, gritting his teeth as he became aware of the pain again. "You shouldn't be here," he rasped, brokenly. "I was s'posed to _protect _you from this. Save everyone. I couldn't. I can't..." She was forfeiting him again to the shadows, his tone hollow.

Her heart wrenched painfully in her chest. He thought he had failed her and everyone else, that she wasn't really there, that he was talking to a ghost. "Mal, no," she said, desperate to reassure him, but he wasn't listening, or perhaps he couldn't hear her anymore.

She tried to stroke his fringe of brown hair, but someone had her by the arm, and was dragging her away. She resisted, frantic to be by his side. "Move!" Simon demanded, "I need to see!" The entire crew burst into the cell, Kaylee gasping at the blood. Zoë grabbed Inara and held her back, to give the doctor space to work, but Inara could not excuse their interference. They pulled her to the side.

Mal reacted, wild, berserk, and lunged at them, almost faster than they could react. Desperation. As though his dizzying agony and blood loss were forgotten, he saw only that she was threatened and in danger, and that he had to fight off the intruders. Jayne intercepted him with a knock to the jaw. Mal didn't stay down, but bounced back up, turning on the mercenary. _"And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose._"

Only a low _thrum _from a stun rifle was able to save the two men from each other. The captain fell again, and Inara cried out in alarm, but this time he didn't move, blessedly unconscious. Zoë lowered the muzzle with only the slightest shake to her hands, but all off them looked on, watching him, unnerved. "Best get moving," she said, her voice steady as ever. "Kaylee, you ever figure out where the hangar controls are?" The mechanic nodded, frightened and speechless. "Let's go then," Zoë decided, releasing Inara with a jerk of her head towards the doctor and the captain. "Take him. We'll tie him down if he acts up again."


	37. Chapter 36

EBFiddler can vouch that I had to think over how I was going to approach this chapter about fifty times. Special thanks to her help and her patience.

* * *

Chapter 36

The path was forward was up in the air; both suspended as a walkway over the chasm between the stasis cell blocks and figuratively. The Operative worked his way down the ledge towards a restricted section of prisoners. Rarely had his training ever failed him, but an unsettled feeling that his mission might be compromised was rapidly becoming very familiar to him. Moments later, it blossomed into confirmation and certainty.

Empty. He had found no one in the holding area waiting for his interrogation as he requested, not the crew of _Serenity,_or River Tam's parents, or the students of the Academy. Now once more his quarry was two steps ahead of him. The pod was drained, abandoned, and shattered in an impressive display of force, as though the former resident had a grudge against the very glass of their prison.

He seldom knew aggravation like this. From the moment he had been assigned to track down a wayward empath from the Osirius facility, he had been confounded at every turn, even after the Miranda broadwave and now that his objectives had changed. He had granted them amnesty, and that had been a mistake. They were a liability now, if they ever told their story, and they had stolen the weapon he was after.

_Thieves are never rogues amongst themselves_, he thought wryly.

- - - - -  
Weren't bad escaping when there weren't bullets flying at them. Only one of them hurt was Mal, but that was just in keeping with the idiot ways. The captain always puffed himself up and told Jayne that he meant 'idiom ways' whenever he said that, but Jayne thought his take worked fine. So long as he didn't have a gorramn harpoon stuck out of his leg, or really anyone but him. Or Kaylee. Girl looked nervous as a hair trigger. More so whenever they passed more of them strange and creepy stupefied soldiers.

He wanted to grudge that against the captain, tangling the girl and all of them in this business, but the man was looking kind of pale at the moment. They hauled Mal's sorry hide up the stairs and all the way back to the hoistway, security opened right up for them. That was foreboding. Like walking into a big round metal trapping pit - a tin barrel, and them the fish.

Kaylee started hotwiring while he stood watch and the others were worrying over another crew member gone crazy. Moreso the doc while the captain's two curly haired women had some kind of argument between them, please and warnings only without words. Zoë, lean and stern and hard, and tall in particular, holding back Inara, small and slender and fancy but stubborn. Deputy and companion wrestled over Mal in a dignified tangle, their eyes flashing like thunderstorms. Finally, Zoë brooked no more debate, and still with her grip she looked to the doc, seemed to ask. _"Well_?"

Then it was like the curmudgeon heard her because he made a noise like a dying man, which Jayne supposed was about right. The anti-grav mechanics jostled them into motion, and Kaylee joined them all curious. "Cap'n?" she asked, him spread-eagle and her hazel eyes fearful and hopeful all the same time.

A few moments passed, and Mal returned bubbling up from limbo. Wasn't all there though. "Someone hit me?" Mal murmured hoarsely, muzzy headed.

"Beaten, more accurately, judging by this bruising pattern," The boy confirmed, kneeling by the captain with a medic's sight. His battered face was a mess of purple, all marks courtesy the Alliance. Excepting for his near black eye, Jayne was proud of that one. "Then shocked with electrodes and knocked out by a stun rifle. Also there's the stab wound and the psychotropic drugs." Simon pushed him back down when he tried to look. "Don't move." Not that the doctor's orders helped. Mal never listened to anyone except his own self.

Then the pain set in, and the layabout grimaced, the air hissing out from between Mal's teeth like the wind going out of his sails. He sounded old. "Always... been popular," he wheezed, a bitter laugh, dwindling away to almost nothing, his head lolling back.

Jayne had gotten to take down the captain's swagger a few pegs, he'd been hoping for another excuse. Least Mal knew who they were now, Jayne thought grudgingly, flexing his hand. Zoë must have figured the same because she didn't hit her old sergeant with a kayo from that _fèi wù _nonlethal Alliance carbine she'd picked up. The companion got herself free and scampered over to Mal, more obvious than she usually was, though not to say she ever hid that much as her training might be able.

Simon rose, glanced over, then back at Zoë. "We need to get him to the infirmary." Here Jayne would've thought Mal was going to dance for them if the doc hadn't said otherwise. "They can't have left _Serenity _undefended. How will we get through?"

Was Jayne the only one of them with any lick of gorramn sense? Seemed so. They'd stand around overthinking until they got caught, whereas he just wanted to get the hell away from the cruiser. "Not a problem so far," Jayne snorted, checked the cartridge in his side arm and scowled. Low on ammo. "Less'n the guards are like to wake up soon."

The lift slowed and stopped, doors opening to the hangar sprawled out before them. And the crazy girl, waiting for them halfway to gone. Simon saw his sister and moved first, rushed out just asking to be shot if there were any feds around. Zoë tried to grab him, pull him back into cover, no luck. She cursed and went to pursue, pushing the captain's re-appropriated pistol into Inara's unsure hands before she could follow. "Help him," Zoë told her. "Jayne, get Kaylee to the dock controls." Then the girl veered away, playing tag, and they were all three of them off on a wild goose chase.

"Be careful!" Kaylee called out to them. Jayne rolled his eyes. So much for surprise on their side. She smiled apologetically at Inara, tugged at his arm. "C'mon, this way," she said, and he grudgingly let the little mechanic pull him out of the lifts and lead him along. The longer he stayed, he might catch whatever it was that'd dropped all the purplebellies. They made a path along the walls deeper into the ass end of the cruiser, where no lights shone, when he heard talking from the hub. He gave Kaylee a glare that stopped her short and went on the prowl, hunting, and grinned to himself when he saw.

- - - - -  
The blonde sisters were irritated, more so than usual since their captivity. A wall of _ming _typeface scrolled up the monitor array almost too quickly to follow. Iris hovered behind them, watching nervously as she cradled a laser rifle like her oversized child. Where was the lockdown command prompt? "Found it yet?" she asked.

June shook her head. "Not in this mess." She exchanged an uncertain glance with Lena, and the look was returned, both overwhelmed by the sheer volume of packets across the network. The unspoken question hung between them. What were all these strange programs running over the cortex?

"I got an idea!" A man's voice, boisterous as he entered with cheerful sarcasm; the mercenary thug they had double-crossed. The girls jumped and whirled, their guns out, but he already had them in his sights. A girl in coveralls peered at them from around him, frightened by the stand-off. "How 'bout y'shut it all down, or else y'all get shot."

- - - - -  
Where was she going? Simon had trouble enough understanding his sister on the best of days, when the spark of her genius wasn't clouded by her condition. He was horrified to think what could have happened to her in the time she had been alone among her worst fears, what they might have done to her again. He could hear Zoë behind him, and knew that the captain couldn't wait, not any more than he could leave River like this. Maybe her sleep phrase would help. He hated to do that to her almost as much as she hated the effect of the programming on her, but he couldn't allow her to just run off by herself.

The first mate caught him by the arm and jerked him back. He shrugged her off him, and she stared back coldly. He turned back to his search, and River had vanished into the twisting labyrinth of identical hallways. _Lost her_. He whirled back on Zoë, ready for a confrontation. "Can you imagine what it must be like for her?" he demanded, "How upset she must be? This place is something out of her nightmares."

Zoë nodded. "I can," she answered brusquely, "I've seen what this place can do to people, your sister included. And that's why you need to leave her the hell alone." She cut him off again before he could voice his outrage. "S'pose she ain't herself, and she hurts you. Or worse, maybe she's on orders and baiting you for a trap." There was pragmatism in her words that he didn't want to hear. "She found us once, she can again anytime. You'll lead her back to _Serenity, _she'll lead you to trouble."

"_Here I am_," announced the intercoms, with a strange reverberation, and Simon only realized that River was behind him when she clasped her hand over his mouth. Zoë hefted the stun rifle, but River shushed them. "They'll hear you," she said, and explained before he could ask. "Guardians of the underworld."

Still his sister, Simon thought, comforted. He had just enough time to wonder where she'd gotten the chloroform before she moved on to Zoë and he lost consciousness.

- - - - -  
The gun was heavy in her blood stained hands, the point of the muzzle dipping as Inara watched the rest of the crew separate. She turned back to Mal, and tried to wake him again, grasping his shoulders. Zoë was wrong, her cautions unnecessary. She didn't care if Mal attacked her, she had to aid him and it would even be a relief to see him still fighting this. _I can't do this on my own_, Inara thought, beseeching, and meant so much. She couldn't carry him alone, not him or his self-destructive attitude. She'd known what he would sacrifice for her, and she couldn't ask this of him, the others depended on him so much. Honestly, she depended on him as well. He'd given back her life, if only temporarily, and she couldn't face this again without him. _Please. I can't._

She closed her eyes against it. No. She would _not _cry over him. Not again. She swiped at the corner of her eye with the gold sleeve of her robe.

Mal was watching her when she looked again. So sad, so tired, full of regret and compassion. "You okay?" he asked, in barely a whisper.

She sighed, because otherwise she would have to choke back a laugh, or maybe more tears. Of course. Battered and partially impaled, dazed, barely able to even see straight, and of course he would ask if _she_ was all right. Mal didn't even have the facilities at the moment to realize the significance of the question - that he had nearly lost her, that she was still here because of his efforts. He reached for her face, the wet trail she could still feel on her cheek, but she intercepted him. "We need to leave," she answered, _and I need you to help me_, she didn't say.

He peered around blearily. "Where we goin'?"

"Back to _Serenity_," she reminded him. She eased him upright, and he was too anemic to manage more than a wince of objection. "Lean on me," she suggested, and tucked herself under his arm, the other curled protectively around his midsection. She would assume his burdens for now. As she had another time he had been stabbed, defending her honour instead of her life, and they walked back home together.

Too much exertion; he was breathing too hard, his heart beating too hard. She gave him a few seconds to try to recover. He went quiet, and she thought he might have expended all the conversation he could manage. She should have learned not to underestimate him. "Pretty nurse like you... Shouldn't be on the front lines," he drawled.

That was so wrong, she didn't even know where to start. Inara managed to shift herself just enough to stare at him. "You're..." Her brow furrowed at him, testing the word as though it was a novelty, "_flirting_ with me." He really was in a terrible state. Did he even know where they were? _When_ they were? She supposed it was for the best he didn't recognize their surroundings. "You're half-dead, and _now _you're practicing flattery?" That was the most unlikely part. Five years, and the best compliments Mal could give tended to be backhanded. She shook her head. "Unbelievable."

Mal smiled to himself faintly, languishing again. "Curves like that ain't flattery."

Between juggling the weapon Zoë had given her and Mal, she was having an impossible time finding an angle for leverage, but then that was normal for her dealings with him. "Just... _hold this_," Inara told him, flustered. "You can tell me what a wonderful nurse I am after I've gotten us out of here." She gathered herself for the effort to lift him, glanced towards the threshold.

Two men in dark suits blocked the light from the hangar bay and their escape.

She remembered. The rain from the red skies was almost an impenetrable veil as she watched it from under a parasol of pink silk and cherry blossoms. Each droplet glittered as it caught the ever-moving luminescence of the Easis commercial district holograms, the dragon of Sihnon breathing cool fire among the fluttering red ribbons. The details of that outing had been inconsequential, except for those stolen moments in time, leading up to her discovery. She saw lurking figures behind the curtain of falling stars and hurried the girls along.

Later, after they had returned to House Madrassa, far from the city, they laughed off the anxiety and walked together around the gardens. That was when a black stealth craft appeared in the air above them, trapping them in the spotlight. A pair of fearsome shadows fell over them. The girls scattered into the wilderness, but they set upon her. Her dress tore, off her shoulder, split down the side. She ran, hiding wide eyed and with tangled hair in a thin compartment under a stairway, ducking back as the searchlight came too close. It seemed hours later before she heard the almost silent engines hum as they left, and she stayed there until one of her guild sisters found her and reached for her, all long limbs and dark grace.

In the hospital's experimental clinic, there had been a couple of Blue Sun contractors just like them in charge of removing the evidence and the failed specimens. Half asleep and paralyzed she had seen them stalk along the quiet rows of ghostly bedsheets and patients shining grey from the darkness, until they stood like death beside their victims.

They left only screaming and blood wherever they went. They were merciless, inhuman, and they would kill everyone.

Inara was already in motion as the memories flashed before her eyes, away from where Mal was half-laying as she threw herself upon the dais at the center of the platform. One of the men withdrew the deadly rod from the lapel of his jacket, and she brought her palm down on the buttons as silver antennas extended from either side of the device. The doors slid closed.

She earned only a second of peace. When they burst in again she wrapped her arms around the podium and clawed for a handhold as they tried to drag her away, back towards the entrance.

A deafening gunshot ricocheted around the chamber, and they dropped her. Mal leveled his pistol at the intruders from the ground, raised up on one arm, his expression dangerous. He fired another round, driving them back a few more paces, then again, until Inara could crawl over to the controls, shutting the hunters out once more. The captain moved his aim slightly, and put a bullet through the wall panel by the doors, sealing them in. His gun hand lowered and he laid back, his energy spent.

Eventually the ringing cleared and only the sound of their breathing remained. Inara crawled over to Mal, small and scared. He looked like a wraith, too pale even as night seeped into his skin. He wouldn't endure much longer, and neither would their defenses. The _yāo xié _would bypass the circuitry and break through eventually, and the half clip of ammunition would not be enough.

Inara drew the syringe from the concealed pocket in her sleeve. Two doses of the most bitter medicine. She had hoped for a different outcome - this was her last resort, a mercy if she reached him and he was already lost to his personal horrors, a measure against a lifetime of isolation, experiments, and torment. She could still spare him from this fate. "Mal?" she said, tentative. He blinked up at her in response listlessly, as though wondering why she was keeping him away from his peaceful slumber. "I have something that will dull the pain and stop the bleeding." He closed his eyes in acceptance, and knew what she meant.

She sat with him, kneeling, and ran her fingers through his hair, and prayed without incense to offer. For Zoë and Wash, and someday that they could be together; for Kaylee, and River, and Simon, and happiness; for Book and redemption; for Jayne and - Jayne. For the captain, and that she might meet him again.

He arched, constricted, a pain or maybe ecstasy, and then it was over. Her hand stilled on his forehead, and she reflected on the cruel jokes that the universe played in the shining metal tomb around them, in the crash of finality against the steel walls. "You won't have him," Inara vowed, defiant. She embraced him as she could not in this life, and covered him as the ghosts rushed in to claim them.

- - - - -  
She left them dreaming, hidden away from the dangers, to waken with the passing of the storm. They would make their own way back, she didn't have to guide them like the others. Perhaps they simply were more rational, less likely to fall between the cracks into the mists or the rising torrent. Her brother the surgeon. The mother-to-be with her holster on her hip. Both giving life in the midst of bloodshed. They would stand witness.

Death and demise were before her. River resisted them, a concerted effort of neurons and electricity exerted remotely over every system in range of the network. She had been the best of the students, the most receptive even unaugmented, limitless when integrated. Her friends supported and encouraged her further.

She moved through the empty space, sheltering the star-crossed souls within her. She was fearless. She was _Serenity_.

They drank of hemlock. There was poetry in this, in the fan of moonlight wings, under the nightingale song and all the fanciful odes. These were the deeper dreams, stinging that brings the tears like dew to the corners of their eyes. An origami doll and a tin soldier, hearts burning, waiting to rise with the ashes. The final moments played out for her, pressed forever on her vivid memory.

The undertakers did not understand the significance, unsatisfied by their claim. "They are beyond death," she explained. Beyond command. They looked to her and thought the code words before they spoke them, but she interrupted. "No. I cut the strings. They were never yours anyway."

Her disobedience was unprecedented. They tried to order her before, and she had captured instead of killed, nets instead of knives. She had survived. Too valuable to lose control.

She'd stolen their power to use against them. "You have to pull the trigger to make me sleep," she told them. "I'm not your weapon anymore."


	38. Chapter 37

Deus ex machina? What deus ex machina?

I'll be taking a little break this month to do some drawing, may or may not try to write anything. A lot of the action will be resolved this chapter, so no worries about cliffhangers. Thanks to EBFiddler for some ideas, and also thank to people who have stuck with me. I don't always know how clear my writing is, so if you have any questions, review or send me a message and I'll answer it, and also try to address that question in the story.

* * *

Chapter 37

The two watchers waited for their backup, motionless, ready for her move - still smiling, always smiling, like carrion birds expecting the fear to drown her. A murder of toothsome crows, shrikes impaling her on long thorns. They surrounded her. She saw the others drifting like shadows, the seen and unseen, tangled up in wires sharp as knives, victims of a gallows whim. Ghosts of lives stolen, including her own, haunted her like a hall of reflections and infinite nested images.

Just one outcome in thousands. So many possibilities from one origin, and only one path ever chosen. Wavelengths painted in prism. A butterfly flapped its wings, and a veil dropped from clear skies. A field of chrysanthemum and peonies grew around her, golden and electric, filling the austerity with vivid hue. She could feel their confusion. Pale imitations. Their idea of deliverance was a steady aim.

She had walked willfully into this ambush. Visions of triumphs had been clearer than the tragedies, so much closer. She let her thoughts wander and the microcosm bled away to grey until she encountered herself, dancer lithe and poised to strike. Which was the reality? She seemed herself a raven, dark hair spun around her in the simile of wings and feathers, a grim psychopomp and harbinger of ill tidings. _Wū yā zuǐ_. Not her. Not the girl she had been, unrecognizable now, but the figment carved from herself, the cruel marionette.

Just a trick of the mind. Physics had no law here. River reached for the whirling tempest within her and struck first, releasing it onto the hapless landscape. The hurricane tore though the illusion, and a circle of judgment like those used by the patriotic tribunals was swept from amid the swirling fog. Three small children recoiled from where they stood around her, retreating from the exposure and onslaught. Startled. A brunette boy, all wild fringe and almond eyes; another ashen and empty; and a girl with hair like fire. All orphans wearing form-fitting Academy slate, no family to miss them. The butterfly, the bluebird, and the phoenix - codenames Cho, Sialia, and Lucy. The hallucination could no longer sustain itself, and the three younger students fell away from her, laying around her like a fractal pattern on the hangar floor. A tetrahedron. The center of the dragon's eye.

Once they flew of their own will, all the prodigal children, until the greatest minds snatched them all up for further study. Locked them in the tower until they molted under the weight of the chains. They gathered the feathers and glued the filaments together with wax and steel, hoping to construct their own archangels, albatross wings arched forth to span the entire heavens. Made them jump from the rooftop, over and over again, cut open the ones that failed to recoup their investments. Justice from injustice. Then shelved when a stronger prospect came along. Replaced. Forgotten by the society they were supposed to cleanse.

She has seen oblivion in many forms, spied as though through a mirror. Indirect, like the gaze of a gorgon. Only way to survive. Glimpses of mortality - shadows of glory and then dust. Each instance like every other. Dy_ing _takes a lifetime, but death itself takes only a heartbeat.

The agents were now out of options, and out of time. Like conductor batons the instruments were drawn, a threatening omen, more alchemy than science. Cold iron and tellurium and silver. Psionic weapon against psionic weapon. She heard the memory of the terrible symphony in the back hallways of a hospital, variations in frequency oscillating though the spaces between. Silent shrieks joined by the choir. Dissolution by resonance in rhythm with the throbbing of her pulse; a wave in red, rising until it spilled over. She clawed her way screaming up their nerves, fighting against the tide, in harmony with the music.

- - - - -  
The feed cut out all a sudden, and the two ice queens froze over the keyboard, staring at the network access screen. Cortex down. Troubleshooting tips in Chinese scrolled around the edges. Finally one of them shrugged. "That takes care of the locks. Can we go now?"

Kaylee looked over from where she was shoulder deep in wires and opened her mouth to answer with some cheerful farewell. She kept forgetting they were treacherous and she was supposed to be mad at them. Couldn't ruffle a skirt with her smiles or the heart patch on her overalls. Not unless their name was Simon. "Nope," said Jayne, before the words were out. "Put a missile up our taillights we don't lock you in the brig."

He admired the newest rifle added to his collection. Big nice one, not as fancy as Vera's armor piercing rounds, but a three barrel automatic bull pup 9 mm Kurtz-Marlow with an infra-red scope. He was thinking he'd call her Iris, after the former owner who was glaring pure jealousy at him. _Women_, he thought. Couldn't trust them for a moment. Not like guns; take care of them, and they take care of you. He pointed the muzzle, motioned them up from their chairs towards the door.

"Where would we even get a missile?" one of the sisters complained, and the other one just sighed. The third girl kept glowering, her short black hair still messed up from their scuffle. Kaylee trailed along after them, pouting. Fine by him. All he cared was they did as they were told, or that he could win in a matched brawl. "The targeting computers around here are just as cooked."

Jayne shrugged. "Last I heard, you were after an Alliance gunboat. I ever get a thirty salvo salute, better be once I'm already dead." He studied them, doubtful. "Any of you even _fly _them buzzards?"

"I'm certified," Iris insisted. The blondes looked elsewhere, the walls, the floor as he herded them along.

"Yeah, damn right you are, turnin' on a fella like that." Wasn't on the square, not just because he got himself dragged into this, but Mal was the biggest sucker for women-folk and a sob story there ever was. "And for what, just t'get yourselves caught? Stayed with us, least you would've gotten clear."

"Why not just leave us then?" she asked.

Girl was not about to be guilted out of a such a fine piece of action. He could respect that. "'Cause ain't no one deserves a creepy-ass place like this," he told her. Plus he didn't want to be here any longer than he had to. That got them all quiet, even Kaylee who was disapproving on his manners. Good. The girl needed a reminder what they'd done. They trudged along, the mechanic and all her ship layouts near memorized occasionally snapping at him, no, this way, like the sameness didn't all go to the docking bay and they'd get baffled.

A couple kids ran in front of him, then another, laughing. Three of them, all a confusion in play around the hangar. And crazy, right in the middle of a blood-splattered mess, sobbing and crying and carrying up a storm.

Well. He was lost. Jayne stomped over to her. At least the others followed him, and weren't running and were quiet. So there was that. Weren't like they had anywhere else they could go. "Shut yer mouth, girl!" he hissed.

"Jayne!" Kaylee admonished. Gorramn sunshine. Didn't know there was a proper time and place for niceties and thought too kindly and trusting. Never noticed how aggravating the psychic core-brat was either.

He waved his hand at the little siren. "She gonna bring the guards down on us with that banshee wailing." And that wasn't unsettling at all, after he'd seen her leap at a room full of Reavers without even flinching. What had the little witch done anyhow? There were bits of fabric floating in all the gore, like scraps of black confetti. He'd seen grenades leave a prettier corpse.

Didn't much want to get blown up himself if she was unstable. Her brother and Zoe could deal with her. Wherever they were. "River!" Right on schedule. Except it wasn't the doc come running across the hangar bay and threw themselves at her.

- - - - -  
"Confined to her room for a _week_," Zoe said, seething. Simon had seen her angry before, a deadly calm before dishing out punishment. Usually he wasn't almost as furious and definitely not at River. "Only allowed out for her toiletries and for mealtimes."

He couldn't disagree. It had definitely been River who had knocked them both out and abandoned them in a strange room on an Alliance ship, not an Academy program. "I don't know what's gotten into her," he admitted. Whatever it was, he hoped there was a good reason for her actions. Their earlier speculation hadn't reassured him.

There she was. His heart wrenched at the pitiful noises she was making. His irritation quickly shifted targets. Jayne was standing idly by, doing nothing. There were others around her as well. They talked to her, softly, petting her hair, but River remained unaware, her cries inconsolable. He hadn't seen them since he left home, his life, and the core. They hadn't changed much, a kind of aged dignity they shared, more grey around his temples, more wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. They'd fit right in at a dinner party except for the prisoner scrubs they were wearing. No, it couldn't be. They couldn't be there. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"She was already like this," Jayne snapped.

Simon ignored him, and pulled River away from them, the tears soaking into his shirt. As if they had any right after what they had done. They sent her to that place, and when he had risked everything to save her, they'd thrown him out and given up on their own children. "Get away from her!" he shouted. Regan and Gabriel Tam stared at him, shocked. "Don't you touch her!"

Zoe sized up his parents and the other women in the mercenary's company coolly, the condemnation in her eyes enough to wilt them. "Where's the captain?" she asked, taking account of those who were missing with resignation.

Jayne couldn't meet the first mate's insightful gaze, and Kaylee's cheeks were wet as she hovered nearby, uncertain, entirely at a loss. "Over there," the gunman said, pointing at the elevator without looking. Simon released River into Kaylee's care and they held each other like sisters. As complicated as their relationship was lately, he was grateful for her help. To all of the crew, really; he didn't always agree with them but they were like family, after his own had abandoned him.

He already knew what to expect as they approached. Mal and Inara looked peaceful together, the only way they could. He thought he might never understand either of them. The captain had managed to top his usual routine of denial and self-destructive overtures, and dragged Inara along with him. She hadn't deserved this, but perhaps, this was what she wanted. They were both willing to risk their lives for each other, all but given up on ever having anything more, and they'd gotten their death wish. Their courtship was a long tortured spiral, predictable, and no less tragic for them than for those around them. Zoe took in the scene with solemn acceptance, another loss before her like a flickering gravestone. Her desolation prompted Simon to check their vitals, however remote and futile the possibility.

Inara was holding something, a syringe that he pried out of her hand. His mind raced with the realization. Byphodine. Suspended cerebral, cardiac, and pulmonary activity. He'd left the box out after putting Inara under for cryogenesis. "Get them to the infirmary," he said, authoritative.

"Li'l late for that, don'tcha think?" Jayne called back loudly.

He exchanged a look with Zoe, who after some initial surprise nodded. She stooped over the captain. "One more time, sir," she whispered, and then her voice surged. "If you're comin' with us, best get aboard."

- - - - -  
Long day. Zoe could feel it wear on her, deep in the marrow, Alliance handling and interference as well as her duties as acting captain. She watched them settle Inara on the counter to the side, as she eased her former sergeant and brother onto the infirmary chair. The doc hooked him up to damn near a cocoon of IV lines, monitors, and oxygen, until she was pushed out, the situation beyond her training as a field medic to assist.

She dragged herself away from staring at the surgery, and passed Jayne where he was crouched half hidden on the stairs, peering into the sick bay windows. "Passengers secured?" the corporal asked.

The mercenary glanced up at her, seemingly concerned about more than his own survival for once. "Yeah. Snobs locked in the dorm rooms, snake women in the belly airlock."

Not enough room in the stores to feed them, Zoe knew, even with Kaylee's parcel of sweets from home. They'd stretched the budget just for supplies for seven. She nodded to him, and continued on to the bridge. Stood at the threshold, just a moment, looking where her husband died. She could almost imagine him, short blonde hair ashen by the stars, seated and half turned towards her with a curious smile. _You ready_?

_Always_, she thought back, and sat at the console. Three overhead switches later, _Serenity_ hummed to life.

- - - - -  
The flag fluttered to the ground in the aftermath, red stained and soaking, smearing the ink of the near-illiterate scrawl. The barricades had gone silent, the mob departed and looting the supplies and reserves in the distance. There was a glow in the east, the dawn and the fires.

Arim gazed at the the inferno of the airfield, the golden streaks emerging from behind the columns of smoke and fire. Ras had always been the leader of of the three brothers, the last to fall, but hadn't lived to see the end of the oppression. Justice, dearly sought, had asked them one last sacrifice.

This was the new life Ras had fought for, one without fear of capture or slavery. Time to start living it. Arim raised the banner, and walked one more time with his brother to the chapel sanctuary.

- - - - -  
The road stretched before him long and dusty, a broad valley indistinct under a deep glowing sky, between mountains that touched the clouds. Will-o-the-wisps lined the path, their little wings glinting like patterned windows, mirrored in the endless expanse as they floated along. He couldn't tell morning from evening or how far he'd traveled, but there were miles left to go and not any notion where.

A wind clear and sweet stirred the air, humming as a shimmering, ever-shifting blaze of color flashed from one horizon to another. The breeze carried with it a distant song, rising over the hills and through the vales like a soulful hymn from his childhood.

They never had a pipe organ at the church in Vertrag on Shadow, but they'd made do. He heard the bells, softer than the fiddlers, the choir, and couldn't make out the words, but he knew them by heart. _Though like the wanderer the sun gone down_. The night before the surrender he'd serenaded the troops and thought there'd been an answer from beyond the trenches, other hapless souls trapped under the raining fire, but in different uniforms. Never again he'd caroled since then, but the captain smiled despite himself. "Well shepherd," he said, "Guess I've lost my way."

"Always said as much," his pilot opined, visible and vibrant and solid as stolen daylight, with the usual irreverence and a lazy smirk. He shouldn't hit Wash. Wasn't even sure if he could.

"I could offer a parable," Book suggested, appearing just as suddenly, stepping out of the shadows, his deep timbre out of the music, hair in silver coils. "Jonah and the whale comes to mind."

So much for a lonely walk. "Been here longer than three days and nights," he challenged. Preparing his whole life, really. "Do your worst."

In retrospect, not the best thing to say to a couple of vengeful spirits. Or to Wash, ever. The joker had a creative sense of humour, and Book had his own techniques and mysteries. This time, though, they just laughed. "Not to worry," the preacher reassured him. "We're here to help."

Just three travelers, each of them guiding each other. Ironic he'd meet a pilot and a shepherd here. Mal grunted, noncommittal, and surveyed the landscape again. Kinda pretty. Some other time he could gaze up forever and try to trace the constellations for the ones he knew, but he felt a tugging insistence that he couldn't stay. "You got a map?"

The old man shrugged. "We all get where we're going sooner or later."

"Where's that?" he asked.

Wash really looked at him then, equal parts liquid sincerity and awe in his blue eyes, and a kind of disbelief, demanding, how could he not know this? "_Home_." Almost a breath, filled with all kinds of inflections, like Wash pining for Zoe, and _Serenity_, and the stars, and something nameless that surrounded them. As though that one word could remind Mal of something he'd forgotten.

In the lingering strains were long grasses and wide open plains, the thundering of wild horses, the festivity of a potluck banquet, quiet meals around a campfire, the warmth around the galley table and the mismatched chairs, a shuttle filled with the scent of some exotic spice. Not just the places, but the people.

Mal missed so many of them, even years later, some long gone, all of them shaped and ushered and transformed him into who he was now. Then he'd repaid their kindness with anger and wretched grief. He wished he'd never met them, maybe they'd all still be alive.

"Are you glad to have known them?" Book asked, and it was more than just the two of them he was speaking for.

The truth. Mal nodded, choked up. "Yeah." More than he could ever say.

Wash tilted his head to one side, studying him. "Ever thought maybe they might've felt the same way about you?"

He stared at them both. They were making even less sense than usual. Mal knew what he'd done, and no amount of speculation could change that. He wanted to rage at them both, but when he reached for the anger, he couldn't find any. Let them think what they want, he supposed, didn't matter now. "Zoe's having your baby," he said to Wash instead. The _sha guā_ looked like a kid himself with his face lit up like that. _And I'm the reason you won't be there. _"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," answered Wash, and he almost sounded like he meant that. "You find a lot of things are when you're out here." Then the funny was back again. "Zoe's wanted a family for a while now. I mean, sure, I won't be able to go out for beers anymore, but I figure you'll be on diaper duty for me."

Mal glared at him. "Okay, who are you really?"

"The mastermind who just turned your boat into a nursery?" Wash posited, and Book chuckled at him.

That was a cheap shot. "No!" he sputtered. They were almost transparent now. A brilliance was growing, off in the distance, the world breaking apart around them, starlight shining between the cracks. "Both of you. All this talk about home and such. You're here to fetch me away?" Mal paused thoughtfully. He'd expected dying to hurt more. Wasn't as grey, either. "Shoulda known you're both _mó guài_."

Wash pouted comically. "Hey."

Book clapped him on the shoulder with that gentle grin the preacher had about him sometimes, like all the 'verse was known to him and the captain was the one talking nonsense. "We're your friends, Mal. Always will be." At the contact, there was a rush he couldn't really understand that spoke to the soul of them, a brightness and compassion and the potential of all things. The background voices swelled, an angelic choir. _Or if on joyful wing cleaving the sky_, he thought, _sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly, still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to thee. "_C'mon now, they're waiting for you."

He blinked his eyes open, then shut, against the blinding surgical light, and groaned. Someone was holding his hand, tight enough to hurt. "Mal?" Inara. Her voice quiet, tentative, like she might scare him back to that place between.

Mal breathed a few moments, trying to accommodate the dream, and he couldn't. "Tell the doc he's got my morphine dosed too high."

A flicker of amusement and snickering rose around the infirmary. "We just saved your life," Simon said, somewhere around the back of his head. Dry as ever, and also relieved. "You're welcome."


	39. Chapter 38

Thanks for waiting on this everyone. The October artwork went pretty well, and I'm ready for the last couple chapters to finish this up. (Thanks also to EB for looking over this, and input from Riona)

* * *

Chapter 38

The _Ratched_ was calm at first, slowly stirring as though from a strange dream. Mass confusion and chaos quickly followed. They were handling the crisis well. Updates poured in from planet-side and over the intercoms to the bridge, asking for orders. A hold position was issued while the more immediate concerns were dealt with and the staging area was reclaimed.

He felt oddly detached himself, his memories of the past few days a blur. He remembered Miranda, the crew of _Serenity_, fighting an Operative, but he could not recall how he was now on an Alliance Cruiser. Why was he here?

There was something confused, he knew - a sense of two distinct lives he had somehow witnessed, and even more as a double agent with the browncoats and the military. Lies and secrets, information he shouldn't know. There was something important and elusive about students of the Academy, but more important, he needed to use his security clearance to get away, and get down the elevator to the hangar. He had an Operative's identification, and he would use that instead of his own.

The repair team he'd recruited nodded to him, and with a powerful sense of unease, he held a katana blade he both knew and didn't, and stepped out from the lift. He needed to find _Serenity_, he knew, and also felt the urge to pray.

- - - - -  
After several tense minutes watching the proximity readings, Zoë reclined back from her fading adrenalin rush into the embrace of frayed cushions and upholstery. The green-lit black spires of the _I.A.V. Ratched_ sank around the curvature of the horizon behind them as they settled into orbit. Nothing had launched after them, near as she could tell. No pursuit. _Too damn close_, she thought. They were always skirting the edge of disaster. At least they hadn't lost anyone this time, but it was a near miss.

Even so. They were safe, but for how long? Bunch of surprises in just a few days, and she still wasn't even sure what had just happened. That was a liability bigger than any other. When the artillery started dropping, she wanted to know where the salvos were aiming. River likely had some idea, in that way she always did, but what the girl could tell them wasn't all that understandable at the moment. She'd wait for her to calm down before trying to commune with her.

In the meantime, that left them with a blind spot to sort out. Best she could figure they'd fallen into a special ops sting, and nearly stumbled into another one earlier with that ambush soiree Inara's friend put on. That meant Alliance had their IDs, as well as whatever the captain might've told them while drugged. She uneasily scanned the cortex chatter and ran tracers, half expecting a glitch to knock out the astronav, cut their power and send them tumbling into atmo. Lot of military encrypted sources, but incoming instead of outgoing. Alliance command was completely shut down.

The _Ratched_ remained almost deathly quiet for a while, then she registered a flurry of communication with the surface. _Guess they woke up_, she thought.

Still no transmissions to _Serenity _demanding they prepare for boarding, and the sense of imminent danger lessened. Generally spook types didn't splash around failures over the cortex, so as long as the Alliance didn't put their faces out on a general alert, this was straight flying and clear skies for them. As she was looking, she noticed a few messages recorded in the logs. Mal had apparently saved the fake notice about Inara from the likely also fake neuro-clinic so he could brood over it later. Another one originated from Sihnon, some prim and gracefully aged lady, bejeweled and fine as a geisha doll in a high necked robe, frozen in replay. That was a mystery Zoë rather wouldn't delve into; the wave was time-stamped after the fact.

The last message they received two hours ago, and she had to respond. A few taps and keystrokes and she reopened the connection. Didn't have to wait long for the vid_. _The console chimed and the screen brightened to reveal a matronly woman in a headscarf. The shopkeeper appraised the former soldier coolly from under heavy lids and dusky eye shadow. _"Go ahead."_

Local cortex signal strong, no interference. She returned the gaze, just as keenly unperturbed, two bronze statues in a stare down. "This is Zoë Washburne to the _Bûmelerze_, communications up and transmitting."

"_So I see._" Under the static of the outdated technology, Zoë heard a slight hint of disapproval from Boss Tauwati. "_I expected to speak with the captain_."

There were layers of meaning, unspoken; the usual shifty cloak and dagger subterfuge for discussing the extralegal. Then again, explaining around the captain's injuries to skittish contacts was well-trodden ground for _Serenity_'s first mate, lest they take it as a weakness. _Never give them a reason. Never show them you're bleeding. _"He's with our medic."

Boss Tauwati frowned, unsatisfied with the explanation. "_There are rumours that he_ _has been captured or killed by the soldiers,_" she mused.

That was fast. "Neither true," Zoë lied. At least, weren't so anymore.

A knowing sigh. "_So he's hurt, then. Somehow I'm not surprised, after the stunt with the roller."_ Zoë found herself very much in agreement. She almost liked this shrewd black market ringleader despite herself. "_And that horse and the balcony, and the medicine. All to impress his pretty young bride, and her him."_

His _what_? Oh yeah, there would be no end of teasing them. Mal and his heroics, Inara running off into the Reavers to find him. Both of them were ridiculous over each other, and they'd have to run out of denial after this. Just figured that even the entire planet of Ezra could see it too. They'd better own up, she thought, the two of them couldn't take much more self-sacrifice and grand gestures anyway. "They'll live," Zoë deadpanned. If they didn't kill each other first.

The mogul's look sharpened. "_Where is the team I sent with your people_?"

Zoë shrugged. "Still with us." She said nothing about the betrayal of the three women. Were they acting on orders? She searched for any sign of the plot in the woman's broad features, any recognition or foreknowledge. None she could see, but she wasn't about to get careless. Not after the captain got injured again, and she wasn't even there.

Scrutiny across the cortex, then a nod of acceptance. "_I have cargo for you. Come to my store. As soon as the girls are released I will give you the coordinates._" The feed cut, leaving Zoë alone on the darkened bridge with her thoughts.

Not the most reassuring exchange, and the Alliance could still be a problem. Risky just for another job. All the same, she wanted those women off _Serenity_.

She rose from the pilot's chair, her fingers lingering a moment on the fabric of the arm rest, and descended the few steps and the hall towards the galley. Zoë could hear someone rummaging around in the cabinets, and she found Jayne sitting at the table, inspecting his new hand cannon, while Kaylee went about reheating the last meal they'd had. "Kaylee, we're landing again soon. Pack all the food away and get to the engine room."

"Aww," the younger girl muttered to herself, loud enough to hear, "but we all worked up an appetite. Less'n from those meds make you throw up."

Jayne furrowed his brows with an expression like an overly suspicious gorilla. "Why the hell we wanna go back there?" he objected, annoyed, paranoid, or maybe just lazy.

Zoë glanced over him. "Locals payin' us to," she answered.

The mercenary turned on a dime. "Okay."

"Bring your gun," she added, already on the move again.

- - - - -  
He threw open the floor panels while Zoë gave cover, her sidearm drawn and cocked. She was downright ominous, her curly mane gone wild, and there was no one wanting to bring down that hormonal pregnant fury, least of all the three they had stowed down in the brig. She looked to be thinking on spacing them anyhow, the fallow skin of her knuckles pale against the stock of the double-barreled shotgun. Dumped out the airlock, Jayne pondered. Made his stomach churn. Better them than him, though, if her mood turned on the rest of them.

A minute passed before she could even speak. "Out," she ordered, her voice hard as wrath and promising bullets. The crew gathered to see the double-crossers off, the cargo bay opened out to morning and the sand swept city. They just about chased the three girls off the ship with the force of their glowers, into the church square and the rabble standing around their landing gear. Too gorramn many people. Couldn't see any snipers on the rooftops. He felt itchy just being there, like a bullseye was painted on his back in laser sights.

The boss lady of the firebrands moved to greet them, then like a thin mirror Zoë raised her muzzle vertical and stepped forward into view just shy of the ramp. Jayne joined her, drumming his fingers against the underside of the bull-pup as a reminder. He smirked out at the crowd, and they backed off even as Zoë frowned. "Where's the cargo?" she asked.

Before he could shoot or curse, a pack of backbirth yokels carried and dragged official stamped boxes of supplies up to them then retreated. "Donation from the invaders," Boss Tauwati explained. "They've been confused and their outpost in disarray for a few hours now."

Zoë sent a cool glare at her counterpart. "Lose any others?"

Just like Zoë, Mama Tauwati set her face in a mask and her spine iron rod straight, and just like Zoë, she looked the more grief-stricken for it. "Just one. My own son, Enjolras."

They were silent a while, some kind of kinship passing between them. Then Zoë shot him a warning. "Jayne." He rolled his eyes and handed his gun to the other woman, so she could give it back to its previous owner.

Still no one left right away once the business was done, and the rest of the crew began venturing out warily. Finally one of the ransoms, a mousy desert rose newly outfitted in a charity linen dress and veil brought out her former livery and dropped it before them. Then another as she turned away, a man with a tremor who shook the doc's hand. A little teary-eyed smudge of a girl ran up to Zoë.

All the pilgrims and vagabonds surged forward, each bearing gifts. Now this was the way to buy bygones. King for a day. He could accept that. Bag of millet, fresh greens, bundled wool, pile of frilly slave girl costumes, a bejeweled knife laid at his feet. They were milling around despite Zoë's attempts to keep order, shouting and cheering and saying thanks none of them understood. Kaylee hugged each of them in turn anyway, caught up in the hilarity. Jayne saw Simon standing petrified nearby, suddenly holding a rope in his hands tied around a she-goat. Before long he was struggling with the animal to stop eating at his shirt. Eventually the goat got pushed away, and trotted off the ship. In the turmoil the doc made a poor guard for the infirmary.

- - - - -  
Inara felt a strange open vulnerability, a turmoil of emotion for once unguarded as the captain slept. He looked pale, and cold under the lights, and unusually calm. Almost sweet, if she could use that word to describe him. Only moments before, he had startled awake, seeming in a panic, and she carefully pressed him down into the infirmary chair to stop him from thrashing and opening his stitches. His gaze met hers, and focused for a long moment, and he'd called her an angel before his lashes fluttered closed. She couldn't decide whether to find a quilt for him or be furious with him, but if she left him to look for a blanket he might slip away again.

_Every time_, she seethed. The gunshot or the knife was always centimeters away from an artery. He'd leave them all; Zoë the only one to carry the memory, Jayne to his worse nature, Simon, Kaylee, and River without their protector. For what? For his own pigheaded high ideals? For a companion he mocked and insulted on a daily basis?

She didn't want to die. Yet despite how he might try to save her, there was no cure. His efforts meant so much - they meant everything to her, but she couldn't thank him for it. Not when he was always sacrificing himself for the impossible.

Aware suddenly of how closely she was sitting to him, she distanced herself from Mal, almost prepared for a joke at her expense from Kaylee or Zoë as they walked in on her, or Simon's understanding smiles as he checked on his patient. She couldn't handle any of them at the moment. A tug at the hem of her gold robe, and she turned to see the little girl she'd shielded from the grenade a few nights before, dressed in bright geometric patterns, her dark eyes shining with admiration from her midnight skin. "Oh sweetie," she exclaimed, "are you all right?"

A shy smile, a flash of brilliant contrasting white, and she held out her arms, asking to be held. Inara picked her up, cradled her in her lap. The companion wondered at how natural she felt, playing mother for this tiny stray. "Who's that?" the child asked, her voice small, studying Mal as he slept.

"That's Captain Reynolds." She listened to the electronic beat of the heart monitor.

The girl processed that response. "He brought the medicine? He saved us?" Inara nodded, considering her own inclusion in the question. The little one shifted to look up at her. "Did you really rescue him from the soldiers and escape from their sky tower?" she asked eagerly, clearly enchanted by the rumours.

Inara shrugged her shoulders awkwardly, a little uncomfortable with the line of inquiry. "I had help," she answered carefully. She wouldn't be the one to deconstruct those childhood dreams.

Her small grin was mostly innocent, cherubic, but also slightly teasing. So hopeful. "Do you love him?"

_The fairytale_, Inara thought sadly. _Everyone always wants the fairytale._ Despite what some liked to think, she wasn't a princess, or an angel, and however noble and heroic a thief Mal managed to be he was also just a man, as fragile as any other. A pound of pressure. He just had to learn the hard way, sometimes he even had to repeat the class. She glanced over at him, heat in her eyes. _You had better not be listening, Malcolm Reynolds, or so help me_- "Yes." An admission, with no hesitation.

There must have been something, an inflection in her tone. "Are you mad at him?" the girl asked curiously.

Inara sighed. "Almost always." She reached out to the bandage around his midsection, checking carefully, fingers brushing the coarse fabric, self-conscious about the matching gauze wrapped around her arm. "He never can stay in one piece."

"The lady outside is angry too," the child commented, her grip tightening. "I wanted to thank her more, but then she got _really _scary."

_Zoë? _Inara wondered, turning her head towards the direction of the cargo bay. She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't heard anything until now.

Two more visitors startled her, waiting nearby, a patient bearded man she recognized vaguely as the leader of the village where the crew stayed, and the kind elderly matchmaker. Both seemed amused, and she felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. They'd heard the entire conversation. The patriarch tipped his head to her. "Forgive the intrusion, we merely wanted to pay our respects to the captain."

She hastened to set the girl down and stood - gracefully, without scrambling, she told herself - and nodded to them. They each approached, and closed their eyes in a prayer for his welfare. Inara silently added another of her own.

Another glance towards the commotion outside. "I should help," Inara excused herself.

Grandmother Hani beamed at her. "You already have, dear," the old woman said. Inara very much doubted that. "He might put himself in harm's way for you, but as I understand, without you, he might be dead. He is a lucky man, to have you watching over him. And I daresay, the same is true for you."

Inara was careful not to react to their words of comfort, but they seemed to know anyway. The patriarch took the little girl by the hand, an unspoken promise that they would take care of her, and they left the infirmary. Inara followed them out, and stood on the landing beside Zoë as they joined the crowd, waving goodbye as the airlock closed.

- - - - -  
The shift in artificial gravity always felt to Simon like a sort of uneasy tension in his chest, some unconscious ancestral memory that recognized that he belonged on the ground, not flying around and leaving breathable atmosphere. He unclipped himself from one of the harnesses hung in the common room. They were generally only used for turbulence or rough re-entries when they'd lost a buffer panel, but in view of the ever-present danger of a hull breech or even falling apart, he thought that it couldn't hurt to be too careful.

He checked the infirmary, where he'd strapped the captain to the operating table, less because of the large aftward fusion engine currently pushing them away from Ezra, and more because the man seemed to think sheer willpower could conquer medical common sense. The doctor was seriously considering approaching the first officer about doping the captain for the week-long transit to Persephone. That approach had worked wonders on Mal's recovery after their crash landing.

There were other reasons as well, Simon worried, thinking of the violent and unpredictable behaviour they'd seen on the _Ratched_. Not that Mal wasn't always violent and unpredictable to begin with. He wasn't sure how they'd tell the difference.

Once he was satisfied from the monitors that he wouldn't lose his patient in the near future, he found a note pad laying on the table in the lounge, and headed back to the dorms to see to River. She was going to be upset that they had to lock her in her room, even if there wasn't a security code on _Serenity_ she couldn't crack. She'd be offended on principle, and that she wasn't allowed to see their parents. Then again, _he _was perturbed that his own sister had chloroformed him.

He knocked on the panel. "River?" he called. No answer. He braced himself, slid the screen aside, and entered, and found River kneeling on her bed, as though she were waiting, bored and annoyed. "I brought you a sketch book," he offered. She frowned at him, then wordlessly she flopped over on her side and turned away from him. He tiredly watched her ignore him, and wondered if he had been this much trouble as a teenager. "River," he coaxed, "you have to stay in here a while. You attacked us."

"Didn't know what to do," she murmured into her coverlet petulantly. "They would have killed you."

He set the tablet aside, and knelt down by her. "What happened up there?" he asked.

River tilted her head back towards him, looking as exhausted as he felt. "Cortex," she said. Right, Mal and Jayne and those three women had been trying to shut down the antlion to lift the landlock and reestablish a connection to the cortex so that they could escape. River pursed her lips, her nose wrinkled. "No, broadwave," she corrected herself. "_Brain_-wave." Another try. "All of us dancing to the unheard music."

Music? They'd trained River to respond to subliminal cues embedded in songs. He puzzled over her meaning. That wasn't right - she'd said all of them, everyone. _All the unconscious guards_, he suddenly thought, _as if they'd heard River's sleep phrase_. The thought struck him. Zoë had mentioned the Alliance had been performing experiments on the ship. What if it wasn't just on the prisoners or the Reavers? If they could affect the soldiers like they could River, they never had to be concerned that their secrets or research might leak. "Mind control?" Simon asked her.

She nodded. Her eyes filled. "Plugged into the network. Tied me down, tried to erase me. Push the button." He brushed some of her hair out of her face, and she stared into him, desperation gleaming from her tears. "I pushed back. Ended the program." She crawled to him. "They're back, but they've all forgotten. I killed them."

He'd long since stopped being surprised what the measures the Alliance would take for complete domination. Simon shook his head and held her. "You freed them," he answered with certainty. Her hug was tighter. "And you're still not allowed out of this room," he added, as he pulled away and stood.

"Didn't know what to do," she echoed sadly.

"I know," he said, and she reached for her journal. He left as she immersed herself in whatever she was working on, and walked back towards the infirmary.

Zoë was already settled on the counter as he entered, watching the captain, expecting her pre-natal exam. Simon pressed a stethoscope to her skin, her shirt pulled up over the slight bulge of her stomach, and they listened to the second heartbeat underneath her strong pulse.


	40. Chapter 39

Happy New Year everyone! Riona, EB, Platonist and a number of people at fireflyfans helped me sort out the River and Zoe sections.

We're getting close to the end here. One more chapter left, then an epilogue.

Some Inara explanations and story coming up soon. I think everyone will actually be pleasantly surprised.

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Chapter 39

Mal spent the first few days in a vague haze, like incense smoke and phoenix feathers rising from the ashes. The doc had him medicated up to his ears to keep him from wandering off too soon from the operating chair and reopening his wounds. He slept to the rhythm of his crew stopping by, every time he blinked there was someone else checking in on him. Even Jayne once or twice, and in retrospect he wondered how it was that he wasn't smothered by his own pillow. Maybe the big ox had grown - they'd all bonded some lately.

River had been hovering around him too, like a spirit guide of sorts listening in on his hallucinations. So he wasn't startled when he opened his eyes, and she was standing by studying him like a raven perched on the gallows. She lifted a silver cross in front of her face, hypnotic, watching the pendulum sway. One of these days, he'd have a conversation with her about stealing from the captain's quarters. Maybe when he could actually walk up the stairs to his own bunk without the long trip leaving him weak and dizzy. Maybe some other time when he'd forgotten that he was only alive because of them on his ship and River's part in that. The troubled girl dropped the chain in his hand. "Thanks," he grunted, and meant the rescue. In the very least, he was out of that ruined orange monkey suit, and back in some of his own clothes.

She looked at him keenly, and pulled out another ligature, and tossed it to him. He ran his thumb over the trinkets, thoughtful, then saw scrutiny from the teen psychic, and shoved them both in his pockets. Then she skipped away and he was alone again.

"_Wèi_," he called after her, but she wasn't there anymore. The infirmary suddenly seemed a lot bigger and too bright. He tried to stand to go look for her - couldn't lose anyone else to this place - but he could only raise himself up on his elbows.

That's when he saw his arms were strapped down. Trussed up for the scalpels. They came back, they'd drug him again. He didn't have any idea what they wanted, he couldn't remember afterwards, and he didn't want to know. He struggled against his bonds, and something popped, either a tendon or the shackle, but one side was loose, and he set to trying to pry up the other one.

Mal froze, thought he heard something, searched the featureless expanse. No one there, he realized again, and passed his free hand over his face. The terrors again - they came and went in fits, both day and night instead of giving him the decency of a breather. Never be gorramn rid of them, he supposed. They'd be with him until the day he died. He'd end up clawing his way along the walls, his fingernails bleeding, shaken by the overpowering impulse to escape. Other times the crew would gather around trying to talk him out of some corner so they could dope him and get him back to the infirmary.

Wasn't the worst he'd ever been through really. Inara was always there, somehow the first to reach him. She didn't belong in the places he saw, not her or her perfume, or the chiffon and silk of the Ezra wardrobe she'd started wearing. Not her soft hair, or her golden skin, or her shining eyes. She both grounded him and set him aflight. He'd taken to imagining her in the late hours, a relief from the ghosts of friends and the relentless threat of both savage and civilized monsters. He didn't mind so much when the nightmares ended with her whisking him away. Less embarrassing than the oddly too-real dreams he'd had lately where she dressed him and helped him shave, or the other fantasies he remembered too eagerly whenever she was near. Whispered promises, her in a garden, an ocean, twilight, under the clear sky, and just her, in the natural female form, at the moment of her most wild beauty.

She was standing in the doorway like a vision of compassion, in a blue shawl over a white gown and the nearest he'd ever seen to an actual miracle. Tangible or not, she seemed almost to float to him on her approach. Inara tugged him upright, as though his bonds were nothing to her, and away down the halls and tunnels.

- - - - -  
A week later and they were almost on even kilter again. Nothing like a long inter-quadrant trip to settle back into routine. Jayne in the cargo bay, pumping iron. Simon back to all the awkward and painfully shy. Zoë with the vigilance she'd taken up since Miranda, like an unsynced copy of the captain, patrolling on her own while he was laid up. Kaylee devoted herself to the engine, kept everything fine-tuned, but even the love _Serenity _always needed couldn't keep her busy all the time. Everyone had to eat eventually.

She watched their four teenage stowaways gathered at the table, her hands wrist deep in soap water and dishes. River had become their impromptu leader after Zoë had let her off from the chloroform grounding after a day of moping around. The other three, they hadn't known much to do with the kids except they were probably friends of River, and that was just shiny in Kaylee's estimation. The girl needed someone to talk all her figures to, and River and Lucy where always at it, speaking in jargon, pouring over imaginary chemistry and physics. The other two were more than not off in their own world, the dark haired boy Cho dazed and dreaming, the other mousy-haired, terribly silent and watchful.

Kaylee heard them recalculating their astro-nav route - River would have to take the helm and make landfall in a few hours. So there was time to take their other passengers their meal. She put together a couple plates of _bao _and rice added to the tray of the bisque-ware tea set they kept in the kitchen, right beside the clean fork and chopsticks she'd found. No one else on the ship seemed willing, so Kaylee had taken it upon herself to cheer the elder Tams up and make a good impression.

Just the few seconds she had looked away and River was hidden, while Lucy and Cho were chasing each other round and round. Kaylee laughed. "Better not be any food thieves about," she called, and stepped out from behind the counter. River grinned at her from where she was crouched around the corner and snatched away a stuffed bun. After playfully fending off the little bandit, she made her way to the dorms and knocked.

"Kaylee?" Regan Tam asked, graceful and always with a kind of nervous quaver that made Kaylee feel sorry for her. "Is anything wrong with the ship?"

The two of them were sitting in their places, Regan straight-backed on the edge of the mattress, Gabriel in the chair at the desk, and worrying as usual. They always asked that, ever since she'd told them she was the mechanic. She reminded herself that there were concerned more because they were nervous flyers than any real lack of faith in her skills or _Serenity_, but the doubt always stung a little. "Just fine!" she answered, swallowing her pride and her ready defense of the ship - never seemed to convince them how great it was living here. "We'll be landing on Persephone in a while, thought you might want a snack," she held up the tray, then glanced at River behind her, "or maybe want someone to talk to before you go."

There was an audible gasp, and then they rushed to hug River, taking turns to assure themselves their girl was real and there, and Kaylee was immediately forgotten in the reunion. She blinked away a tearful smile at the family, set the food aside for them, and left them alone to talk.

- - - - -  
_Under the spreading chestnut tree. _The deep roots with teeth that bite - digging down, down, sucking them dry. Shapes of memories, ghosts she'd known. But they'd changed. They all had. Made choices they couldn't take back.

They were strangers. Five years apart. She was the fog now. Clouded. Murky. The River flowing uphill. She was no longer the eager fourteen year old with the bright future. The one with dresses made of sunlight, a debutant ball with sparkling music, obnoxious boys who couldn't name the elementary particles. None of it real. Not even a Mad Hatter and a March Hare. The careful porcelain tea cups with pink blossoms were locked in the fine china cabinet for another year, gathering dust. They couldn't see the shards where they were glued back together, but they'd break along those edges, razor sharp.

Frost layered over that reunion, transparent and unseen, their embrace brittle and cold. They felt like knives in her arms. Shiny heirlooms that once tried to protect her, tried to protect Simon. Warmth echoed from the past, but she felt it at a distance, through the glass of time. Only cold comfort now. "There's my girl," said Gabriel Tam. But she wasn't, they knew she wasn't. She wasn't _theirs _anymore.

"Oh River. We were worried." Regan Tam, always idly chatting with the other upperclass Osiris housewives over the biscuits and hors d'oeuvres on a silver platter. Kept up appearances even when black shiny boots and suits were in the parlour. Her perfect family on their perfect strings like dolls.

"You're scared," she said, around all the desperate acting, trying to feel how they should. "For yourselves, for Simon. City mice in the country. Thought you found your lost golden treasure, hearty and filling. Melted away from the cold steel trigger. Snap snap snap." The creeping black tendrils of uncertainty rose back to the surface. They stunk of fear. A glance between each other as they pulled away, back to cold decorum. They'd heard their only daughter was crazy. Hadn't expected this. Should have. Simon had warned them. "You didn't ask for me."

The agents threatened her brother. Simple overdose of legal supplemental stimulant spiked in the hospital coffee. A trade - signatures on the dotted line. Offered a top-tier education and a waiting job offer in military intelligence. And experiments. And involuntary surgery.

"When we found you you'd just killed someone," her father blustered.

She'd killed lots of people. Assassin. Her time away had turned her into this. Conditioned response training and codewords, a secret world underneath society and below even the underworld, monitoring everything. The underlying order at the root of civilization. Hungering and parasitic. Failure was final.

"You sent me there. Signed the certificate, stamped and notarized. Death sentence."

"River..." Mother struggled with the words. With the guilt. "It's very complicated." No. Even they didn't believe that. The Tams chose Simon, and gave her up for lost. And when Simon went to save her, they weren't there. She didn't blame them. Simon was always so good. She'd have saved him too. Then they stood in his way. Why didn't they try?

She was upsetting them. "It's okay." Wasn't. Never would be. Her mind gone, scratched to pieces and drained out like a sieve. "I can play. I can dance. No one cuts me here, or evaluates impact pressure and simulated death count. No guns. No knives. They let me fly."

Quiet dismay. They saw now all that their daughter would never have, the life lost to her, traded for them and their son. They didn't see the progress, the small steps, the peace she'd found. Her brother was looking after her. Always her keeper, ever since he was little, yelling when the neighbor boy pushed her in the mud and she cried. "Is Simon all right?" Father had been so proud when his son passed the medical exams. Never anticipated he would be wasting his talent on a crew of brigands and a broken sister.

"Sometimes happy. He's with Kaylee," she answered. Her nose scrunched at the thought. "Not always," she corrected, "and not right now. Rug burns would be significant." Puzzlement. So lucky. She knew better. "Sunshine on daisies. Not the choleric type. Doesn't want anyone to feel excluded." Kaylee had grown up on the outskirts, ever since the day she went to the one-room school in burlap, and the rich girls laughed at her. Her only good dress ripped while repairing a rotor.

"She's a nice girl," Regan agreed. Didn't know what else to say. The children wouldn't forgive them, not just yet. They were grown now. Independent.

Fallen from grace. Abandoned. "You're not staying." Have to see what they'd done everyday. Couldn't help her, couldn't cope. They'd stay with the Shepherd's Order, parallel lives running and hiding scared. Hard times ahead. No comforts like they'd been accustomed. She felt sorry for them. "I'll miss you." She hugged them again, this time warm and real, and said goodbye.

- - - - -  
Eventually the black stopped staring menacing pupil-shine back at him. Only the constellations remained, that and the glimmer of starlight across Inara's doe eyes as she waited serenely across him on the bridge console, poised in the space between the switches and toggles. He loosened his grip on the armrests.

Inara was running her fingers through his hair, the movement sending waves of heat rushing through him. _Tiān ya_, this wasn't his imagination. She was fussing over him like a wounded dog. _Get it together_, he rebuked himself, feeling foolish, and met the pity in her gaze. "This ain't the infirmary," he said, as though there were any doubt. The question remained why was he at the helm, and why she was wearing such a low cut dress.

"You don't like the infirmary," she was teasing him, almost reproving, but there was something consoling in her voice. And exasperated. "I thought you might appreciate the view."

Of course she'd seen his discomfort, him exposed to the cold under the bright lights, and knew exactly where his mind took him. River said too much, burdened her with all his _gǒu shǐ_. "Less risk anyway," he muttered, turning his head away from her touch. No good, just gave her a better vantage. Must have damaged his pride on top of nearly bleeding to death; his eyes were trying to close of their own volition, and he didn't have the willpower to shrug her off him.

Her hand stilled, then she pulled away and deprived him. "For me? Or for you?" she asked sharply, challenging him. "Mal, whatever time you spent in that place, you're not a reaver. You wouldn't hurt any of us."

Mal scowled to himself. "I attacked Jayne and made Zoë knock me out," he argued. "I endangered all of you." He was still a threat at that, so long as he was more rudderless than usual. Last thing any of them needed was for him to have an episode and pull a gun on Kaylee. Or Inara, since she was determined to put herself in harm's way. "Should've left me."

Anger flashed across her eyes, and she drew herself up, then slid herself off the side of the ledge. "You'll have your wish soon enough," she answered, frost over spitfire, her words cold enough to sear him. "I'd like to borrow the shuttle when we reach Persephone, captain." Not even at first name basis anymore. "I'll even pay rent."

She strode away in a huff, down from the bridge, and after a moment fighting with himself, he stood up after her, looming at the top of the stairs. "Why d'you need the shuttle?" Wrong question, he already knew that. He'd chased her off again, because he wasn't good enough. He hated the jealous suspicion, the possessiveness he always heard in his own voice.

Inara paused, then looked back up at him. Her lips thinned. She'd heard the accusation. Gorramn companion training. "My aunt Vihara," she answered, with a _this-is-none-of-your-business_ expression. He countered with a _its-my-gorramn-shuttle _and crossed his arms until she capitulated. "She was worried and flew out to meet me at the temple in Demeter."

Great. So now he was the beast denying beauty the chance to visit with family. "Been a while?" he asked, with forced interest.

"Since Sihnon. She was a dear friend of my mother, and helped raise me." She'd never really mentioned any of that. There was something sad and wistful in her explanation, and his curiosity turned more genuine. Then she shot him a warning glare. "She was also the Priestess of House Madrassa in my time there."

Sweet aunt Vihara who also taught a little girl in dark ringlets how to sell her integrity to rich men. "So, ain't seen her or even talked to her for a few years. She sees your death notice over the cortex, and contacts you right away, not a doubt in her mind where to find you. Travels all the way to Persephone. And you're going anyway." Yep. If this wasn't a trap he'd get down on his knees and propose to her. "So who's behind this you think? Atherton Wing, another psychopath friend of yours? Maybe one of mine. Or an Operative, that's always a joyous -"

She whirled at him. "I stay and you leave me, I leave and you ask me to stay. What do you want from me, Mal?"

There was a double meaning there and he didn't want to look to closely. He bristled in defense. "I could ask the same! What the hell does it take to impress you?" She wasn't looking at him so tender anymore. Never would again probably - she'd be leaving, because the Guild could offer her so much more, and all he wanted - _What_? he asked himself furiously. _Be her hero_, _get a kiss from the lady_?

The question seemed to hit her hard. In the mirrors of her eyes, he saw himself, forced to see her lose more ground every day. Hurt more, because of him. Saw her watching him back as she pulled him out of a nightmare. "Try not to die so much," she suggested, her voice blunt. She turned away, down the hallway, and for a moment he thought he'd heard something like a tremor. Concern maybe. For him.

"Wait." Lucky for him, she did, although she seemed ready to slap him. He'd gone amiss again - ass backwards and contrary as per usual, his hands wrapped around the metal chain links down his pockets like contrition. Her eyes were like to set him aflame, normally great fun to get under her skin and a touch of pride for him. Less so much when he was about to lose her for good and she was about to break him over his own galley floor. They studied each other like caged animals, and he tried to find the words to say something. One wrong move and she'd tear his heart out. _Doesn't matter now_, he told himself, _damage done._" I shouldn't lecture you." After all the ambushes and risks he took, he had no ground to stand on.

The surprise that abruptly chased her fury was almost painful to see. He really treated her so poorly that any apology from him was a shock? No wonder this was so easy for her, he'd made for certain sure that she wouldn't want to be in even the same 'verse as him.

Mal couldn't change that. But River had reminded him, he could do this much. He approached her, and she didn't run. "Meant to give this to you," he told her, no mention of her last two departures. She knew anyway. Him letting her just walk out of his life, too standoffish and stubborn, and too much of a gorramn coward, to even properly say goodbye. He took her by the wrist and pressed the two steel tags into her palm. Her fingers closed around them.

Nothing to speak of, just his name, unit, blood type, and homeworld engraved into the metal. A tarnished relic of a better man than him, one who still had faith, and hope, and ideals, and love. Not much else to give her. Belonged to Inara now, and maybe always had, he had no real claim anymore. He'd betrayed the memory of that soldier more than any of the others.

And he was half expecting her to throw it back at his head.

When she looked up at him, she had an unreadable expression he'd seen before but never could conjure what it meant. Wide-eyed, her irises dark, soulful even. Her lips parted like to speak, her head tilted back in a way that made him suddenly all too aware how close they were. He could actually feel her breath against his neck. He forced himself to step away from the warmth of her, almost burned. She stared at him in open confusion. "You don't want to be late," he said, his tone like gravel. Inara didn't move at first, and he had to put a hand at her waist briefly to steer her, send her along. She found her feet, and glanced at him, a long look from over her shoulder as she moved, pausing at the door way. Then gone.

He felt the shuttle detach when he finally followed her. He flattened his hand against the airlock, curled his hand into a fist against the pull on him as she flew away. Selfish. What the hell was wrong with him? She needed the core worlds, the comforts, the doctors. He loved her. _And if she stayed, _he asked himself, _was it worth it? _He'd love her to death. He owed her more than that, more than he could ever say. So long as she was alive in the verse, that was all that mattered. She could visit him in his dreams, he told himself firmly. He could accept that. But he'd always want more.

- - - - -  
The Tam's departure was a tense, unfriendly occasion. The two of them followed Jayne out with some unease, while their son stood by like a gunfighter. His first mate stepped up beside him and they watched the proceedings with about as much interest as though they were voiding something from the septic vac. They all blamed the parents for River's misfortunes. Fugitives though. Mal couldn't envy them.

The girl was clustered with her new friends, chattering, promising she'd see them again. As if on a signal, she waved and they dispersed after their escort towards the abbey.

"Well look at that," Zoë said with a smile. They watched Kaylee catch Simon's hand, a reassurance. "Guess they're back together, sir?"

"Seems the improbable does happen," the captain agreed, non-committal. "Hard to believe they could forgive and forget after the hurt they caused each other." He prided himself on the absence of whinging in his comments. That almost didn't sound bitter or petulant at all. The boy turned and walked away without so much of a farewell, Kaylee smiling a weak apology over her shoulder. Might not last, but at least they weren't alone. They'd be all right so long as they had each other. Some more than others, he supposed. Not everyone was here with them.

"All's fair in love and war," Zoë quipped. There was a loaded silence, that spoke plainly she had more to say. The kind of say like to get him laughed at. He didn't have to wait long. "Why're you still here?"

He grunted and shifted awkwardly, not liking the direction of the conversation. "Got our buyer on the way, nice toothless fella set up by our black market terrorist friends." He nodded to himself. It was a plausible excuse, he always had work to distract himself. Of course, years in the trenches together gave someone more than enough insight to see right through him. He dismissed her shortly. "Not a good time, Zoë."

"When is?" she asked. "There'll always be something else; the crew, the job. You find your chance at something worthwhile, you take it. You don't kick around while your life flies off to Sihnon without you."

He tried again. "Also, you're pregnant. Got an obligation to you. Shouldn't stress you too much."

"Will be for five more months," she answered. "I can handle it." He looked at her dubiously. He couldn't split his loyalties. "Sir. You're not my husband, and not the father. I don't mind the help if you're offering, but it was my responsibility to see Wash safe, and my responsibility to see my child safe. No one else." There was sorrow in her voice, but also acceptance. At some point in orbit above Ezra, Zoë had forgiven him. Maybe he'd started to forgive himself too. "Go and see her. I'll be right here."

Now he was out of the easy reasons, and all that was left were the ones that hurt. "She don't want to see me."

She continued ruthlessly. "I was able to feel again," Zoë told him. "He could take everything I threw at him, and then settle me down. I took fewer risks because he was waiting for me. He made me calmer, kept my war at bay, showed me that my life still had some worth. I had four years with Wash, and it wasn't near enough." There was all his shadowed past in her expression, all she knew he suffered. "Go on, sir. I've been waiting for you to pull yourself out of the dark hole you've been in. You need each other."

He started to drag himself away, up the metal stairs, recalled by the pain in his gut. Who was he fooling? He was too broken for anyone. Mal grimaced, then set his teeth and changed direction, heading for the shuttle. He did have a promise to keep, and damned if he didn't try.


	41. Chapter 40

Finished one day too late. Hope you all enjoy anyway. Epilogue will be coming along, regarding the Operative and the aftermath here. Thanks for reading.

* * *

Chapter 40  
The waves were a moving mosaic, an impressionistic mirror for the city of Demeter against a green hillside. She flew the shuttle in low over the bay, circling around for a landing. The thrusters whipped up a fine spray around the platform as she touched down, like a fan of droplets from a swan alighting on a lake. For a moment she could imagine she was on just another engagement among the commercial towers of the city financial and administrative district at the base of the foothills.

Inara glimpsed her reflection in the viewscreen over the controls. She contemplated Mal's parting gift resting next to the almost-hidden star burst scar over her heart, then the empty shuttle behind her. Hard to believe only a month ago she was recovering from a bullet wound, preparing to leave. Time to be on her way again.

She tucked the chain down her white dress and pulled the blue chiffon of her stole closer around her shoulders, then slid the airlock aside, gazing out over the harbor and breathing the unprocessed air. Clouds were blossoming in the distance, promising rain for the city later. The crew of _Serenity_ and the badlands around Eavesdown Docks to the south would probably see only a harsh windstorm. _Two different worlds_, she mused, caught between them.

A light voice broke through her reverie. "Inara? Are you all right?"

She pushed aside her wistful thoughts for the sake of her guild sisters. "Sheydra," she smiled. Her friend returned the gesture and helped her down from the shuttle.

"You didn't answer my question," she admonished. The priestess of the abandoned Burnet training house was blonde, beautiful, gentle, and refined, showing off her excellent taste in an aquamarine dress. Her wisdom to matched her years and she was keenly observant. When Inara had worked with her as a teacher, Sheydra teased her mercilessly about the spirit of adventure and pirate lovers. "Do you miss him yet?"

Oh no, she was blushing _already_. This didn't bode well for the rest of the conversation. "I'm ignoring you now," Inara said primly, as Sheydra, delighted by her all-too-obvious reaction, walked with her over to the other companions. "Rodberta!" she called.

The former companion had an unmatched zest for life. She was easy with a laugh and partial to playful and exotic prints, her wild hair tamed only by delicate accessories. She was an excellent choice for guildmother of Persephone, even without any established houses on the world. Guild presence in the border worlds and on the rim had always been sparse, though not for lack of trying. A student was standing nearby, an apprentice observing in much the same concept as geisha training on Earth-That-Was.

The first time Inara had arrived on-world, anxious and uncertain about her prospects, Rodberta had arranged a meeting with all the other practicing companions in the quadrant. The conversation had been light and enjoyable, and Inara had plenty of advice, recommendations, a full client list, and several new acquaintances by the end of the negotiations.

Rodberta herself had been the perfect hostess, and hadn't changed at all. "Oh my dear," she exclaimed as Inara joined them, light kisses to each cheek. "It's been too long. I last saw you almost two years ago, not since that dreadful Atherton Wing made himself into a spectacle."

She knew Sheydra was already intrigued. There had actually been a swordfight, brought on by Mal's stubborn-minded ways and a jealous client. The captain, a gunfighter who could barely find the hilt of the blade without cutting his hand, against a skilled fencer. The memory pained her still. He had nearly been killed without her intervention, and he'd never really let her forget the incident.

Atherton was once one of her regulars on Persephone - seemingly amiable and sweet, attentive eventually to the point of obsession. Underneath his superficial charm was something sinister and controlling. Like many of her clients he had a less savoury side and wrongheaded notions about ownership and entitlement she'd noticed right away, but nothing she'd never handled before. He'd invited her to a lavish social with the upper class of Demeter at the Telesterion Municipal Hall and asked her to become his personal companion under the lovely decor of the Anaktoron Dome. Just to make her life difficult, Mal almost magically appeared, with Kaylee in a princess gown and tickets he could not have acquired legitimately. The captain noticed her, immediately suspected Atherton's intentions, and to get her away from him, Mal asked her to dance. More incredible, he actually knew the steps.

Mal was gallant, even in an old-fashioned formal suit and cravat that looked like something out of the nineteenth century. Wherever did he get that outfit? Although the pants _did_ look somewhat attractive on him - perhaps a size too small, but tight in flattering places. Kaylee, meanwhile, was simply adorable. She recalled a crowd of men and boys and pink ruffles with some amusement, a rapt audience hanging onto every bolt and rivet as they talked shop.

How quickly her irritation at their usual fights about her clients and her profession evaporated under the floating crystal chandelier and soft lights, as they grinned about Kaylee's enthusiasm and enjoyed the music of the waltz together. Unfortunately, Atherton saw as well. The situation escalated, Atherton insulted her, and Mal struck him to defend her honour. When the morning saw Mal bleeding and fighting for his life, Inara begged Atherton to spare him, and offered herself to the loneliness of that dead-end future for Mal's sake. Mal objected, and overpowered Atherton thanks to her distraction.

Atherton blamed everyone but himself for the outcome, including by extension the guild and every member. His cruelty was as much a threat to any other companion or woman who rejected him as to the rivals he'd gleefully dissected in sanctioned duels.

This was not something she wanted to talk about, and not something she could let Sheydra overhear. She spoke up before her friend could ask for details. "He hasn't bothered anyone else, I hope?" Inara asked. She'd sent a general warning to the guild, but on the more remote worlds girls had to look out for each other.

The student answered her, consulting a datapad. She was tall, with an air of competent sophistication, short-cropped brown-hair swept to the side and lowkey in a black sheathe dress. "According to the credit trace on his account, Atherton Wing hasn't done much but nurse a bad temper and alcohol since his fall from polite society," she said.

Inara blinked. Not a new acolyte then. "Adessi Arman is with the guild protective service," Rodberta clarified. "She's the new security officer for Persephone." Of course. The guild discreetly monitored the credit history of subscribers, watching for warning flags and suspicious purchases, and they could also track the location of anyone in the registry from their last known transaction.

The agent inclined her head respectfully. "Ms. Serra." She tapped the screen again. "As of five minutes ago, your black mark was twenty miles up the coast at the usual country club, running up an astronomical tab with the irritated staff. While that could just be an alibi and he could have hired some local thugs with platinum to abduct you, I doubt the management would be happy with him conducting those interviews on their property, as he doesn't appear to drink himself unconscious anywhere else." She regarded Inara from underneath an elaborate application of eyeliner. "Also, he most likely believes you to be dead."

She was becoming too much like Mal, barely able to step away from _Serenity_ without incident. His constant worrying had her jumping at shadows, her mind full of ambushes. Atherton was just one of many enemies she had to consider, but none of them would be looking for _her_, at least not until the reports of her demise were contradicted. There would always be risks, she supposed, something that might go wrong vessel-side or planet-side. Like Mal, she couldn't let the danger stop her.

Inara relaxed marginally, and smiled graciously at the officer. "Thank you." She looked over the small welcoming party curiously. "Is the High Priestess here? I thought she wished to speak with me."

Sheydra offered an arm and patted her hand, as though they were just out for a stroll along the shoreline. "She's seeing to some preparations. We'll meet her at the temple gardens," her friend assured her, leading her away from the landing pad and into the local planetary transportation center. Adessi fell into step behind them to keep watch as Rodberta took her other side. The clean white ribbing and girders of the concourse vaulting overhead involuntarily reminded Inara of an Alliance prison ship.

The suspicious timeframe of the messages in _Serenity_'s log, her aunt wanted to see her, but wasn't present for her arrival... Yes, something was wrong. Inara lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sheydra, please. Tell me what's going on."

The other two companions exchanged looks around her. They both knew something. Adessi was the first to answer. "Ariel."

Sheydra squeezed her hand supportively. "Your captain alerted us, although without realizing." Hers again - always that joke. "He left a series of messages with House Madrassa, obviously coaching a girl in cover-alls to ask after you. If you were settled, if you were well. Then a drunken message later, alternately apologizing then complaining about how you were screening your calls."

The security officer continued. "Clearly you weren't on _Serenity_, so we looked into your possible whereabouts. The guild doctors had you scheduled for your annual appointment, and you never arrived," Adessi explained. "There was no activity on your account and no explanation. You could have forgotten, or perhaps something came up with your transport." She shook her head. "But there was reason to believe you were abducted."

Inara averted her eyes from Rodberta's expression of sympathy and filled in what they hadn't said - there was reason, because someone had already tried to take her on Sihnon years ago. She'd gone to a waiting room in the sprawling complex of Ariel's Capital City General Hospital, and then somehow ended up on that dark floor with ghosts in labcoats drifting around her, paralyzed and unable to scream. She still didn't know what they were doing and why they wanted her. "By whom? Why are they after me?"

The brunette officer frowned. "We don't know. We only have a mode of operation. Guild sisters and trainees have been disappearing from Academies and hospitals on core worlds, along with highly intelligent students, amnesiacs, or individuals without known family connections. Our best guess is a secretive research group with government funding." Oh no. A similar program had taken River, broke the fourteen year old's mind, and trained her to be an assassin. But, it couldn't be. Why would they want companions? Then again, why wouldn't they? Companions were trained to pick up subtle emotional cues, and the guild culture was already steeped in mysticism about empathy. Perhaps that existing training would be easy to augment and build on. Their clients were vulnerable, and likely to offer confidence, and companions would make ideal spies. "We traced you to the hospital, found you on their system in the hidden files, and altered their records to have you transferred to a more secure location. We then intercepted the shipment, and issued a notice of death to stall their recovery attempt."

She couldn't help the feeling of annoyance. "And then you sent me to Mal, of all people. For my _safety_." Almost a deadly mistake.

The blonde companion was apologetic. "I should have known you would get into trouble with them again," Sheydra admitted. "I also thought they would be able to get you away as well."

"And here you are," Rodberta announced with a flourish, and meant as much the rescue they'd managed as she did their surroundings. Inara considered the truth of both meanings as they passed the customs officials without issue. Adessi hurried her through the imposing arches of Bole's gate into the now-overcast city, where a hovercar was idling. Her friends waved to her from outside as the first sprinkle misted the window, promising they'd be along shortly.

From down by the bay she could see all the charming shops and cafes and flower boxes lining first avenue. A direct line all the way up to the modest temple on the hillside, built in honour of the eclectic mix of early pioneers who had settled the area and worshiped there before it became popular with wealthy families. She watched the scenery change from metropolitan to gardens, and then to the tamed wilderness along the foothills. Quiet lanes branched off from the main road into the woodlands, towards grand estates that still tended to favour the horse and carriage as a show of wealth.

The high priestess was waiting under the pillars of a classical rotunda and blossoming willows,situated against a rippling terraformed lake created from comet ice. On the opposite side of the headwaters, the peak rose in the east, illuminated by the sun during the day, and by a beacon lit in the shrine at the pinnacle at night.

Her aunt was dressed in her robes of office. Regal. The subtle outline of white blossoms embroidered on plum silk - part of the gardens herself. Black and grey strands in an elaborate headdress. Vihara's unreadable face was powdered in the traditional way, and as her aunt's attendants held the door for her and opened an umbrella, Inara curtseyed a formal greeting, folded over, almost sitting on the wet stone of the cobbled walkway.

She wasn't to straighten until the high priestess acknowledged her, and so she was surprised when her aunt lifted her into an informal hug - her aunt who sighed and clucked at her that she was such a handful, so like her mother, and her imperious _Dà Mā_ who told her to mind her studies and her reputation. "Come along," she said, releasing her abruptly, and led her into the vestibule under the columns. "There's still much to discuss."

- - - - -  
He might've plowed himself the surf for all he could see in the downpour, even through the shuttle's rainguard. Seemed to be as much water in the air as below, he'd be none-the-wiser. About as graceful, too, whether flying or swimming - never been a good hand, let alone in a storm like this. But somehow he followed the air traffick route instead of sinking his chances before he even got there, somehow he spotted the landing beacons.

Long trudge along the dock ahead of him, and all without a coat. The city would be swarming enough with Alliance types, let alone him waving his colours around and running the bulls. He glanced up at the sky - no sign of letting up - and resigned himself to the weather. Mal reached the edge of the platform as he heard voices over the howl of the wind, squinted over and saw some figures running full-tilt towards the shuttle from the depot.

_Cèng dèng._ Well. Wasn't getting any drier. He turned, took a half-step, and threw himself into the water. The cold shock as he hit almost knocked the wind out of him, but he kept breathing, fighting the waves crashing over him. His lungs burned and his injured shoulder ached as he kicked and struggled his way to shore, tossed around by the swell. He was losing strength fast. The black eating around his vision was almost the same colour as the ocean, as the sky from his bridge - his hand fell onto a broad flat stone, and he dragged himself out of the foam onto the rocks. He coughed up some of the brine he'd swallowed, and pushed himself back up to his feet. Inara might leave, and his pursuit would find him if he dawdled.

They didn't catch up to him again until after some officers seized him trying to sneak through the immigration line then hauled him off to a sound proof room. How they picked him out among a horde of scruffy transients trying their damndest to look inconspicuous beat the odds, but they did give him holy hell for drabbling all over their pristine floor.

The marshals had him tied to an interrogation chair when the rest of the party entered. Three women. Companions. "You never take the easy way, do you?" one of them with dark hair appraised.

Now only his mind had to get to speed. Maybe he was hallucinating, bondage didn't sit well with him. Mal shrugged. His face hurt. "And miss out on all this?" The blonde in the light blue dress and the cheerful bronzed woman beside her looked familiar. "You're Inara's friends," he realized. "She know I'm here?" He quashed that sliver of hope quick, he'd actually rather she didn't. Why couldn't he go anywhere without getting arrested, he wondered, and heard the question spoken in Inara's exasperated scolding.

They nodded to the guard he'd been in a glaring contest with and started on his restraints once scowly was gone. For his part he helped by trying not to react and pull at the straps himself. "Not yet," answered Sheydra - right, that was her name - "We thought you might follow her, so we stayed here until we were notified you landed."

"That's thoughtful," he grunted, and gingerly stood, still sort of woozy. "Thanks."

They stared at him with a combination of sympathy and disapproval. The taller woman shook her head. "We better get him to the others, let them know he's all right." She glanced over him again. "Relatively speaking."

By the time they reached the temple, the rain stopped, rays of light poking out from the thinning storm clouds just to make an impression and show off the splendor of the lakeside garden and monument. Meanwhile he looked somewhere in the area of muddied and disheveled. Mal stomped across the grass and crossed the temple threshold into a parlour of sorts with stone panels. His crew looked up at him from mats arranged around the tiled floor, dressed in their formals and apparently having a tea party with half of the companion guild. Sheydra and the other two women joined the celebration while he stumbled to a halt. "Wha-?"

Kaylee beamed brightly over at him, bow in her hair and ruffled gown flared out around her like a bride on a wedding cake. "Heya cap'n!" She was nestled between Simon and River in a group of what looked like students, chatting away.

_Serenity_'s first mate raised her usual eyebrow at his rugged appearance. She was wearing a blouse even, some loose silky thing in a deep red with dress pants and her boots. "Appeal to her sense of mercy, sir?"

Jayne snorted at him from where he was huddled off a ways from the group. The mercenary had a hastily donned polo shirt, and was clumsily cradling a tin of something that probably wasn't tea and otherwise none-too-pleased with his involvement. "Couldn't hurt."

His mouth set in a hard line. "Cargo?" he demanded. They'd landed here to work, not play spectator to his personal life.

Zoë shrugged. "Quick and easy. Figured we could use some shore leave." No tea for her either, she was snacking on apple slices. Thinking on her condition most like.

"You knew about this?" he asked.

"Got the invitation last night," she answered, off-hand in that way that told him she thought this was entirely hilarious. He supposed that explained her amusement earlier. "Even had a ride come 'round for us." He stared her down a little longer, and she gazed back, placid and immovable.

"So 'Nara won't be mad," Kaylee promised brightly, ever the optimist. "Not unless you get the foot-in-mouth again," she added. "You can go right on and talk to her, no need to dither so."

The captain turned his glare on her, with about as much success, then walked away before they could start trying to give him gorramn courtship advice. River pointed him towards the only possible direction, a heavy double door carved with symbolism from all the major religions, flanked by handmaidens who bobbed on their feet to him as he approached then knocked. After a few seconds there was a response from yonder and the two girls drew both sides open.

He knew something was wrong immediately, but he couldn't really assess the situation. Inara had on her companion face, the one with the practiced smile that could shatter in moments, like a living sculpture. They'd styled her dark curls back and away from her graceful neck with pearl hairpins and flowers. "Captain Reynolds." Inara addressed him formally, but her eyes had a portent in them, something pensive and troubled in those depths. Like black cinders, the fire all under the surface. He almost didn't notice the other woman in the room even though she was dressed like a queen geisha doll. "This is _Dà Mā_ Vihara, High Priestess of the Guild Grand Council." She turned to her matriarch, her head bowed. "_Dà Mā_, may I have a moment?"

The priestess touched the fingertips of her bejeweled hand to Inara's forehead, then floated by airily as a drifting cloud. The woman took no notice of him, and somehow also seemed to size up his character and glean everything about him in seconds. Vihara paused. "Malcolm Reynolds," she said, as though trying out the name, and deciding whether it fit. "I never knew your father, but I heard he was a good man. You have the look of him."

She almost got him off guard, but he set his jaw at the challenge. "Never knew him either."

Something flickered in her expression like confirmation. "Then beware of those who did. They take the succession very seriously." Didn't have to tell him that. Their bombs surely did. The priestess passed him, and he delayed until the handmaids shut the door behind her.

Then he was alone with Inara except for the awkwardness between them. She hadn't moved at all, and she looked less tense, but her eyes were closed like she was gathering herself for a fight. The companion wasn't there anymore, a frown had overtaken the forced tranquility. She took a breath, and expelled it in frustration. He took that as a suggestion to hurry this along. "I know you don't really want me around - "

"I asked for you," she said, looking over at him. A slight curve touched her lips - too sad and brittle to count as anything pleased, but more genuine than the beatific mask she'd been wearing. She shrugged a shoulder. "Or rather, I asked the crew. You can be difficult." So could his crew, when they were pranking unfortunate captains. "But I'm glad you're here."

_Yeah, you're all athrill_, he thought at her subdued manner, still trying to suss out what was bothering her. "Good. 'Cause I had to _swim_ part way."

"Bathing? You? We should notify Simon." Almost their usual kind of banter, except, not really the kind of activity she should be discussing with him. Gave him ideas that were too close to the lines she'd drawn for them. Also, too close to home. Her gaze shied away from him. "He mentioned how you helped me. With the cryochamber."

Oh he was in trouble. No wonder she was upset. _Play it cool, Reynolds. _Would she kill him? Use her special secret companion combat moves on him? Not before he murdered Simon, he vowed. "About that," he started. "I told you then I'd see you through this. Way I see it, I'd be a poor excuse for an officer and rakehell if I broke that promise." When she returned her attention to him, her eyes snapping back his way, he couldn't tell if her expression was astonished or more like he'd just slapped her. Already in for a penny, he supposed, and blundered on against the thought of her dying, no one beside her and no one to mourn her. "I'm leaving the ship to Zoë, and I'd like to go with you back to Sihnon."

If she'd have him. And she wouldn't. What was he even thinking? Of course she'd refuse him. Why had he even asked? She was almost frozen there, except for breathing, and he adjusted his already negligible chances downwards. There were two options, once she recovered her coherent thought from the exposure to his abject stupidity - either she'd laugh at him, or worse, she'd be _polite_. He braced himself for that look, the one where the girl pitied the poor love sick fool and was about to try to let them down easy, and then he'd crawl away feeling like about the lowest mongrel there ever was.

Inara took a step towards him, started and stopped, started and stopped again, and for a moment he thought maybe his idiocy had broken her mind after all. Then she strode right up to him, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her head somewhere in his rib cage. "That a yes?" he asked, stunned himself. She laughed, and it sounded more like a choked sob. Mal could feel her fingernails digging in, clinging for support as she trembled, and the alarms in the back of his head kicked up a notch. "Okay," he said, trying to decide whether to just hold her or attempt to pry her off him. "What's all this about?"

She tilted her head to look up at him, her cheeks wet and her eyes brimming over even as she tried to grin at him. "I'm retiring. No more clients, no more conjugal visits."

He immediately thought he understood. "I'm sorry." To his own surprise, he actually meant that. "You need me to talk to them? My word don't count for much, but I could tell them whatever you're in trouble for was my fault." Most likely be true too, he conceded.

Inara pushed herself away a little, one hand over his heart, wiping at her tears with the other. No make-up, he noticed. "That won't be necessary. This was my decision." She smiled to herself. "I could lock myself away in a tower, pretend nothing is wrong while always looking over my shoulder. Or, I could accept the risks and continue flying with _Serenity_, and when I thought about it, I realized there's no place I'd rather be."

He didn't believe her for a second. "The core," he reminded her. "The _doctors_ even."

"The doctors were _experimenting_ on me," she whispered, hugging her arms to herself. They were started to approach what really had her upset, and if something managed to shake her up this much, it was going to be serious. "They _killed my mother_, slowly, over years, and they wanted _me_, and to protect me, so I'd check in periodically, the guild told me - " Her eyes were half-wild and desperate when she found him again. "I thought I was terminal. I still don't know what happened to me at the hospital for the past month, what they _did_ to me."

Some of her fear started to creep into him. If he was anyone else and hadn't seen what the Alliance was capable of, he might've had his doubts. This was no wild hare story for any of them. "Will they come after you? Like River?" he asked, hushed, a low rumble.

"I don't know," she answered, and then none of that mattered, he was determined they'd never find them. He was matched only by the determination in her own expression as she collected herself. "All I know is, I'm not going back. Ever. And it's -" she cast about for the right word.

"Terrifying?" he offered.

"_Hard_," she corrected. "But for the best. I don't want to live like I'm dying anymore. I just want to live." There was something in her gaze then, something suggested that warmed the cold chill right out of him, and made his pulse just about triple. "The guild offered me a new position, overseeing distribution of charity they've collected for the rim. A good will ambassador of sorts." They both smiled at the inside joke, his old nickname for her. "There will be _lots_ of travel involved."

He mused, pretending to mull it over. "Think I might know some free-bootin' freighter rats who'll take you on," Mal said. "You'll have to scruff yourself up some though. Captain's bit of a preening obnoxious _hún dàn_, doesn't like to be shown up fashion-wise. This despite the tendency for lookin' like he's been through a thresher and smellin' like bay water at formal occasions, mind you."

Her amusement shone through her eyes. "I had wondered. Didn't anyone talk to you?" His expression clearly answered her - _I have absolutely not a fathom what you're all doing here_. "And yet you came to see me anyway?" There was many a lesser man who had been led to ruin by a smile like that. "Hmm," she almost purred, "that's quite a gesture." She brought her hand up to the necklace dipping between her - his dog tags, he suddenly noticed. His _dog tags_. His eyes quickly flicked back up. Oh, she'd noticed him looking all right. Smug as he'd ever seen her.

Wiles. This was why they were the bane of his existence. He cleared his throat and tried to look stern. "Just tell me," he demanded.

"There's a small ceremony. Guild tradition, very symbolic," she explained, waving towards the other door that he suspected went outside, towards the lake. "You're welcome to join, and it would mean a lot to me. Although my friends might take your participation as something of an overture."

His heart leaped. "Also tradition?"

"More just my friends," she sighed, long-suffering, and for once not at him. "But life goes on."

"That it does," he agreed. He could sympathize, probably get the same treatment from his crew. Ah, what the hell. He offered her his arm. "Wanna get drinks after this?" She looked skeptical, and he remembered the start of her month-long exile. "I mean back on _Serenity_. Kaylee will probably try to get as much mileage out that dress on the doc as she can. Might even let her pipe waltz music over the intercom."

She beamed at him, some mix of hope and happiness as she leaned into him, and slipped her hands into the crook of his elbow. "I'd like that." Inara paused and listened. "Sounds like they're about ready."

The doors opened for them. So they were. "Shall we?" he asked.


	42. Epilogue

Epilogue

Ripples. They were solid as an illusion. Steps across the water that left no trace at the source, and wore down mountains over time. She could no longer touch the surge, the storm she'd called down that swept them to safety, but she'd seen all the possibilities, and she could still catch glimpses as they flowed by. They wondered why she was less clear the more they needed her. By whose measure of clarity? None of them could see as far as she could, even in the turbulence, and in the calmer moments she was satisfied by the present.

That was not to say she wasn't paying attention, even while the play of light under the surface distracted her. They moved in a circle, ankle deep amid the lotus flowers and fragile blossoms scattered around them - teachers and novices, friends and colleagues, carrying bowls of incense with them as they held out sprigs of mint and lilies crossed overhead. The air hummed with music, poetry from a high court about the seasons as an allegory about the rite of passage.

A young man and several companies of forgetful marines who had disappeared for three months under different names traveled home. Nothing to cover up. Investigation into the program revealed the technology was still unreliable, and without the three Academy students to serve as a focus, the project was quietly dismantled and shelved. Rumours lingered about a priority target and an unprecedented display of psychic ability. The fugitive had again eluded capture.

Interest in several associates - whereabouts unknown, two possibly dead according to a video feed - participated in a major theft and security leak related to Paxilon Hydrochlorate and antidote supplies. They shouldn't have been able to break into the compound. A confirmed rogue agent of parliament had been involved in the event, but had not granted the parliamentary override that had given them access.

There were whispers among the assembly about an assassination and an inherited title, about an unknown history and other secrets. The knight errant wouldn't have believed them if he knew. He was aware only of the new ambassador as she knelt like an initiate in the pool, of sprinkling droplets into her hair as a baptism, of wrapping her in borrowed robes when her own became sodden. On Shadow, a blackrock moon forgotten except for the greed of a few and given up for lost, seedlings broke through the darkened crust on the northern continent and blossomed.

Despite how little they cared about the politics and the factions as they struggled to make a living, they would make ripples just by existing. She couldn't see if they would all stay together, couldn't see if they would even all survive. They'd fight for their own pasts as much as for their future. But the memory of the fallen would live on. A girl, tan and dark eyed with lighter curls, learning to fly. A former Operative, every day more the Shepherd than himself, a sentinel instead of a murderer by the time he arrived at Southdown Abbey. Someday, she knew they would visit the graves of Serenity Valley and not hear the howl of the ghosts. Someday, they would walk across the green prairie of a restored world and watch the rain.

River looked forward to everything. This was just the beginning.

_- - - - - End - - - - -_

* * *

And that's it! Thanks everyone for reading, writing, commenting, discussing, and helping me beta for the last four years. Couldn't have done this without you all, helping me sort out my thoughts or see where I needed to be clearer and elaborate. EB, Platonist, GR, AR, Aliasse, Riona, you've all been amazingly supportive and patient. Writing isn't my strong point, as I think is abundantly clear, and I also think maybe I need to not take the writing so seriously. So for my next project, I'll probably do something fun, and _short_, instead of another 125K doorstopper. See you in a few months probably, after I have a chance to unwind - and I get a head start because I write at a snail pace. In the meantime, drop me a word, I always like talking Firefly.


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